Blood and Lyrium
by Renegade Sheep
Summary: Marian Hawke finally confronts her feelings for Fenris, and the two begin their relationship, when something goes terribly wrong. It's really no wonder that Varric left this out of the Champion's tale. Mature for adult content- sex and drinking.
1. Chapter 1

Marian Hawke lay in her four poster bed staring at the canopy. She was having trouble sleeping and she was not going to drift off any time soon, she could tell. It had been several years since she had dispatched the Arishok, and Knight-Commander Meredith all but ran Kirkwall. She had been named Champion, but she certainly didn't feel like one.

When the nights were quiet like this, her mind roamed and it invariably returned to the night she found her mother, murdered and defiled in a bizarre blood magic ritual. The mage responsible was trying to resurrect his dead wife, and apparently, Leandra fit that particular mold.

She didn't know how she was still going. She knew that she could always count on her friends, but it was really support from the Tevinter fugitive, Fenris that helped her the most. Fenris was an escaped slave who had won his freedom against his former master, the Magister Danarius. Hawke had helped him kill Danarius, and to free him once and for all from the Tevinter Imperium. Fenris was living in Danarius' abandoned mansion in Hightown, and it wasn't far from her estate. She wondered what the elf was up to now.

No one had really known, save for Varric, that she and Fenris had been involved romantically. She couldn't really call it a romantic relationship, more like they had rutted once. Fenris had explained that his lyrium-infused tattoos made it painful to pursue a physical relationship, and had not brought it up again to Hawke. She did not want to force the issue, but she couldn't deny her feelings for him either. She wasn't sure if she loved him, exactly, but she knew that she couldn't get him out of her thoughts.

After she had laid her mother's body to rest, Fenris had stopped by her estate to offer his condolences. She wanted him to stay, to comfort her, but she couldn't bring herself to ask him to stay the night. Now, she spent most nights alone, or out drinking at the Hanged Man.

After several more minutes of laying there, tossing and turning, trying to shut off her mind and get some sleep, Hawke finally gave it up. She got out of bed, dressed, and decided to head off into the night.

She liked Kirkwall nights. If there weren't groups of bandits out, it was a nice stroll. If there were ne'er do wells, it was a nice barbeque. Hawke loved to roast baddies with her fireballs. It made her laugh when they thought they could take her on. She guessed that she looked quite helpless, a lone noblewoman wandering around after dark, but she was an accomplished mage. A mage living outside of the Circle of Magi. An apostate. Growing up in Lothering, she never had to worry much about being an apostate. Her father had taught her and her sister Bethany how to control their powers, how to conceal them. The Templars in Lothering were a lot more lax too. As long as one wasn't burning down the village or sacrificing children for blood magic rituals, they were content to live and let live. The Blight changed all of that in Fereldan, and in Kirkwall, the Templars were much more vigilent and strict. They also seemed to be a lot more corrupt and paranoid, but there was also good reason. It seemed like Kirkwall was a hotbed for maleficar activity.

Personally, Hawke had never seen the appeal of blood magic. Even if it didn't lead to deals with demons or human sacrifices, it was dangerous enough. There was so much untapped potential with blood and so much raw power that mages did not understand, it was better to leave it alone than to risk one's life or sanity to it. Fire, on the other hand, now that was what got Hawke all tingly. She just loved being able to start a campfire without any sort of trouble at all.

Hawke had been wandering around Hightown aimlessly and she had found herself in front of Fenris' place. She considered knocking and going in to visit, but she wasn't sure what she would say, or if he was even home. She had heard Isabela talking to Anders about how much she was wanting to sleep with the elf, and Hawke couldn't help but feel a little jealous. She knew she shouldn't take anything Isabela says seriously, as she knew the pirate wench just liked to sleep with as many people as possible and nothing serious ever came about it. Hawke herself wasn't exactly short of suitors either. Many noblemen (and some noblewomen) sent favors and invites to her, trying to vie for her attention.

It's not that she wasn't interested, it was… exactly that. She just wasn't interested in being part of the elite. She much preferred to get dirty, to go on adventures, to roll around in her silken sheets with a certain broody elf.

She scowled, eyebrows knitted together. This wasn't helping. She could either go and talk to Fenris and mention her feelings, or she could go home and get some sleep. She walked up to his door and lifted her hand to knock, pausing hesitantly. "Maker's breath," she mumbled. "Just knock, Marian. Just knock."

Marian Hawke did not knock that night. Instead, she went to the Hanged Man to meet up with her favorite dwarf and to drink so much that her eyes crossed and she could mistake him for a genlock.

Walking into the filthy, smelly pub, she headed to Varric's room. Why he stayed here was anyone's guess, but the dwarf spent all of his spare time here, either penning his stories or managing his ever-growing spy network.

"Hawke, what a friendly surprise!" Varric said, gesturing with open arms. "Come, sit down, I was just about to get a pint. Shall I get one for you, O Champion?" He motioned to the serving girl and ordered two pints as Hawke sat down. "Care for a game of Wicked Grace? I think I finally got Daisy to remember all the rules," he chuckled. "Of course, she is still terrible at remembering not to tell you her hand, but hey, it just makes winning that much easier."

"Varric, I… have a problem. And I need your help." Hawke couldn't believe what she had just said. The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop herself, and she hadn't even started drinking. Varric raised an eyebrow and put his hands together. Hawke rarely outright asked for help, usually she just barrelled her way through her problems and dragged the sarcastic dwarf along for the ride. "What's wrong, you seem to be a little out of sorts. Is Hightown too boring for you?"

She shifted uncomfortably in the hard wooden chair. It's not like the Hanged Man invested in nice chairs, but this one was particularly hard, and it seemed to be made of nothing but splinters. She wondered how long she would be pulling those out of her backside. "I… it's nothing." she finished lamely. Varric would just make fun of her, and even though most days she could handle anything he dished out, tonight just wasn't one of those nights. "Shit, Hawke…" the dwarf said slowly. "It's something serious, isn't it?" He rubbed his temples. He often wondered what "serious" meant to a person like Hawke, who hunted groups of blood mages and giant spiders for fun.

"I… Remember a few years ago, when I told you about Fenris?" Hawke started, uneasily. "About how he had never been with anyone before and we slept...together…?" Varric wrinkled his nose in mock disgust. "Hawke, you know I don't want to hear about any of your romps with elves. Now if you had been with a dwarf, that is another matter entirely. That would make for a good story." She shifted, crossing her arms across her chest. "I'm serious. I've been trying to move past him-it, for a few years now. And I can't." She laughed, mocking herself, "Finally found a problem the Champion of Kirkwall couldn't fix, and it had nothing to do with mages or Templars."

Varric sat in silence for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. He knew that Hawke had cared deeply for the tattooed elf, even if she had never shown any inclination to Fenris, or anyone else for that matter. He had kept tabs on Fenris, too. He knew quite a few things about their mutual friend that he hadn't exactly mentioned to Hawke, and now he was pondering telling her. Being friends with one's charges made a pretty poor spymaster, the dwarf was willing to admit to no one but himself. It certainly gave him a lot of headaches.

"Listen, Hawke. I think I know what your problem is. You just need to get out a little more, and try to relax a little. Being cooped up in that fancy house of yours only drives you crazy."

"I don't see how this helps me," Hawke said shortly. "And here I thought I could at least ask you, Varric, for your help for once. I just don't think-" Varric cut her off, smiling and spreading his arms wide. "That's right, Hawke, you don't think! I know you got a thing for the broody elf, and I have been keeping tabs on him, in case there was any interested parties about. I keep the Coterie off of him, I keep the tax collectors off of him, and so far, I've kept Isabela off of him, and that has been no easy task." He chuckled to himself, thinking of all the times he had Fenris suddenly 'run an errand for him' or introduce Isabela to a strapping young man, who just happened to be all oiled up and glistening. It took a lot of effort-and coin- but Varric was not the type to let such trivial things stand in his way.

"I know you're nervous, I don't know why you're nervous, but I know you are. You're the Champion of Kirkwall, any number of men are lining up down the street to hop between the sheets with you." Varric patted his friend on the shoulder. "If it helps you out, I can go with you to his place and I can help get the ball rolling between you two."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "What, like set out some wine and some cheese and force conversation between the two of us? That won't be awkward at all!" She smiled. Despite her best attempts to stay upset, Varric had a way of bringing out her sense of humor and sarcasm. "I suppose I will just have to bring some snacks, right? Do you want me to bring the Antivan fish crackers, I hear it's Fenris' favorite." She got up and Varric walked to the entrance of the pub with her. "Don't worry, I won't force you to make awkward conversation, you do that well enough on your own that you don't need any of my help anyway. I got a few ideas on how to make things go well for you, and I think you should just follow my lead, for once."

The pair walked through Lowtown and up the bridge to Hightown, stopping only for a moment before Varric knocked on the door to the elf's acquired mansion. "Listen, ah, Varric.." Hawke began, but the dwarf interrupted her. "No, not a word, Hawke. I know. I don't like it when you get mushy on me, so let's just leave it. This is what friends do. They sometimes push." Hawke paused for a moment, and smiled. She remembered that she had said the same thing to Aveline, to help her friend get with guardsman Donnic. They had been married for a while now, and it was good to see Aveline so happy.

Varric knocked, and after a moment the door opened, Fenris standing there. His silver-white hair caught in the reflection of the moonlight and his large, green eyes seemed surprised. "Varric, Hawke! What are you doing here, at this hour? Is something wrong?" His eyes narrowed and he reached next to the doorway, a moment later the pair could see that he had picked up his two handed axe, obviously ready for trouble. Hawke wondered if he lived his whole life like this now, constantly worried that there was danger. As she thought about it more logically, she could see, yes he did live like this. All of her companions did, she knew, because she was a "bit like the eye of a hurricane" as Aveline had called her. The center of a storm. All seemed to get caught up in it, and it was better to be prepared than not. She also thought about all the nights that she had slept with her mage staff in the bed next to her, one hand wrapped firmly round the shaft, ready at a moment's notice.

"Woah, easy there, elf. Just here for a friendly round of cards." Varric said, winking at Hawke. "Thought you could use a little company because you keep yourself cooped up in here too much and I hardly ever see you at the pub."

"All right, come in," said Fenris, though not entirely convinced. He wasn't looking at Varric. He knew the stout companion could weasel his way out of, or into, anything, given his reputation as a storyteller. He was focused on Hawke. She seemed oddly fidgety, like she didn't quite know what to do with her hands. He dropped his gaze, suddenly remembering that she actually did know what to do with her hands, and she did it quite well. "Follow me," he waved for the two to follow into Danarius' estate. He hadn't bothered to keep up with the place, and it was falling into disrepair. It wasn't that he lacked the coin, he just didn't see the need. He wasn't legally residing here anyway, so putting work into it would just draw attention to himself, which was the last thing that he wanted. He may have been free from Danarius, finally, when he ripped the bastard's heart out through his chest, but he felt that he would never be free from the Tevinter Imperium. Some magister would always want to claim more power, and his tattoos made him a prime target. Fenris scowled. He wondered if he would ever be truly at peace.

They made their way to the study, where there was already a card table set up. Apparently Varric visited a lot, thought Hawke, since the dwarf was the only one she knew who could convince anyone to play a game of Wicked Grace. Hawke sat down, and Varric started shuffling the cards, all while telling Fenris to fetch them some wine. The elf disappeared for a moment, and then coming back with a few bottles. Hawke was impressed, some of this wine was expensive, she didn't think Fenris had become that much of a snob over the years, but apparently he had.

"You might as well hand over your coin purses now," Varric smiled cheekily. "I would hate to have to humiliate you." He dealt the cards and the game begun. After several hands, in which Hawke was down about three sovereigns, and feeling a lot more relaxed, she couldn't help but realize that this was the first time in a long time that she was having fun, genuinely. Sure, nothing beat killing bandits and plundering the Deep Roads for riches, but it was nice to just sit down and relax. The wine helped, it was potent and left her feeling tingly all over.

"Watch it, Hawke," Varric said warningly. "You'll end up setting the table on fire if you keep that up." She looked down and laughed. "Oh, I wondered why it was getting so warm in here!" Her fingers were glowing red with fire magic, leaving small scorch marks onto the wooden table. "This is why I don't drink!" She shook her fingers and the fire faded.

"You owe me a new table, Hawke," Fenris smirked. "This one was a family heirloom. Whose family, I cannot say, but it surely belonged to someone." Varric could see that things were going smoothly, provided that Hawke didn't actually set the house on fire. It was time to make his exit and to let these two hopeless romantics fall in love. Or at least into the bed. Varric hoped it was at least a clean bed.

"Well, kiddoes, this has been a blast. However, I need to meet one of my contacts back in Lowtown, so I need to get going." Hawke whipped her head around. "What? You can't… you can't be serious?" She felt her heart racing already. Damn it, she thought. Hold it together.

Fenris took no notice of Hawke's outburst, or so it would seem, and he told Varric to have a good night, and to try not to get robbed by the Coterie. "That's why I always keep Bianca close," the dwarf winked, and patted his crossbow on the hilt lovingly. He turned to leave and smiled to himself, knowing that his work was done. Or at least he hoped so, he didn't want to have to do this every week. He had more important things to do, like work on his latest crime serial, Hard in Hightown. He whistled to himself, pleased at his innocuous little set up, because what Hawke didn't know, couldn't hurt her… much.

Finally, Fenris was alone with Hawke. He had been trying to get alone with her for months now, but it never seemed to be an appropriate time. He disliked the Hawke estate, simply because he found it too lavish for his tastes, or so he told anyone who asked. Really, he just hated being there and seeing so many nobles come and go, trying to get Hawke to settle down. It frustrated him, knowing that there were better men for her to be with, while he was doomed to watch from the sidelines. He knew it was his fault. He never told Hawke how much she meant to him, never said that he wanted to still be with her. When they had first slept together, all those years ago, he said that his tattoos had caused him great pain. Her very touch ignited memories of the lyrium being branded in his skin. It was true, it did cause him pain, but there was more to it as well. Hawke was a mage, and he had spent his whole life as a slave to a magister of the Imperium, seen what power could corrupt, and he was afraid that Hawke would turn out just the same way.

Try as he might, he could not forget her touch. It wasn't just a metaphor, or a rose-colored memory. The marks branded on his flesh gave him the ability of perfect memory recall. He could honestly feel her touch on him now, as he had felt it then. He could recall every gentle caress, every kiss, every lick. He could recall every death he had caused as well, every heart he had crushed or neck he had broken, but the memories of being with Hawke were his favorite to revisit, and he did so often. It was no wonder, or surprise even, that Varric had approached the elf several months ago and told him that Hawke still had feelings for Fenris. At first he was surprised, but he had long learned to trust that the dwarf's information was usually accurate. When he had asked what that meant, all Varric said was "You'll have to leave it up to Hawke," and shrugging.

When the two of them had shown up at his house tonight, Fenris had a feeling that Hawke had finally decided to stop waiting, but he couldn't be sure. Humans were still a mystery to him, and Hawke even more so. He looked at her now, the way that her form was silhoutted against the soft candle light, how it made her blue eyes sparkle. Her raven hair partly obscured her face and it took everything he had to not brush it out of her eyes. He kept staring at her lush lips, longing to feel them on his again.

Hawke downed the rest of her goblet of wine. She shuddered, squinting her eyes as she swallowed the tart, dry wine. Varric could have warned her that this was his plan, so that she was not caught off-guard. No, that would have been too easy, she thought, and she knew that the dwarf loved to watch her squirm in uncomfortable situations. She wouldn't put it past him if he didn't actually have a meeting with any contact, and if this hadn't been planned from the start. Sometimes that dwarf was too much of a busybody and liked to stick his large nose in her business. She looked up, taking her eyes off of her wine goblet and caught Fenris staring at her. She blushed and stammered. "Well, it's probably late." Probably late? That was almost as clever as "it's a nice night for an evening." and right up there with "how do you feel about swords?" Maker's breath, she was doing a good job of looking incredibly stupid. She stood up to leave, and thanked Fenris for having her over and for the wine. "Next time though, I think I prefer the hard stuff." She made her way to the door and Fenris followed her. "I haven't lost that much coin since I bet Anders that I could get Carver to take on that whole gang of Tal-Vashoth. Of course he wouldn't take them on, complaining like always that he always has to do all the hard work! Just like my little brother, so eager to prove himself up until he has the chance to do it."

She knew she was rambling on, but she couldn't stop herself. It was if she had cast a spell of haste on her lips and they were running at a mile a minute, she didn't even feel that way about Carver, not really. The siblings didn't get along, even less so since Mother had passed away. Carver was a Grey Warden and rarely sent any letters to Hawke, but she didn't mind. The less she knew about what he was doing, the better. It was too easy for her to worry, to want to interfere to keep him safe, which is exactly what caused him to resent her so much.

Fenris chuckled softly, a small smile creeping across his face. Hawke was beautiful, and he found that she was even more so when she was being awkward. He felt like he was truly seeing her in these moments, not just the image of the impressive Champion, who seemed to do no wrong. He furrowed his brow in sudden thought. If she left now, this evening was not what he had intended, but it was still a good start. How was he going to tell her how he felt? Each passing day made it more difficult, more likely that she had moved on and he was to be left here, alone.

Hawke couldn't take her eyes off of him. His silver hair, his dark eyebrows, those luminous green eyes. She loved the curve of his lips, his strong jawline, how his lyrium tattoos traveled down his chin to his neck. She knew where the rest of those markings went, and she felt a tingle of excitement stirring in her as she recalled tracing them with her tongue. She knew why Danarius had kept Fenris as a slave, his tattoos infused with lyrium could be awakened just at a touch, and when she had slept with him, she felt power stirring inside of her as well as pleasure. It frightened and excited her. She didn't dare mention it to anyone, least of all Fenris. She knew that he would be horrified and it would push him away further. His eyes met hers and she made a split decision. Perhaps it was the wine, perhaps it was just being in close proximity to him, but Hawke lunged, and she captured his mouth with hers.

Fenris was startled, her kiss was so sudden and so fierce. She had bit his lip, and drew blood. He didn't care though, his mouth yielding to hers and he pressed her against his door, hands cupping her face as her tongue slid across his. He felt his manhood stirring in his trousers as he returned her kiss, his desperation showing. Hawke ran her fingers through his hair and grabbed hold, tightly, plunging her tongue in his mouth. She had waited too long-years- to kiss him again and she was not going to let him get away.

His hands traveled down her body, feeling her curves through her fine tunic. The soft fabric yielding to his touch and he could feel her breasts, fingers tracing the curve of them, before working down to her slim waist. Hawke moaned, his touch setting her skin on fire, not literally of course, but if he kept this up, it might happen. She hungered for him, to feel his naked skin pressed against hers, the two of them writhing together. She could feel her sex awakening, and she longed to feel him plunge into her again. And again. And again.

Fenris broke the kiss, pushing her dark hair away from her face. "I have waited too long to do that," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a growl to it, one that suggested that he had more planned for the mage, and she was shivering in anticipation. She could see the hunger and lust in his eyes, and knew that it mirrored her own. She leaned in and kissed him again, softly on the lips. "Fenris, there is something that I have to tell you," she said quietly. It was now or never, Marian, she told herself. "I want...you to come over for dinner." What? Did that seriously just come out of her mouth? What was she thinking? Surely he was going to turn her out on her ass now, just for being a fool.

The elf chuckled. "Only if it is you on the menu, then perhaps I can be persuaded." He loved that she was so flustered and out of her comfort zone. It was strange, with all of her experience with other men, and he only with her, that he should be the calm one and she the one who was flustered. He took it as a compliment, and kissed her again, pulling her into his arms.

"Hawke, I should have never left that night," he said breathlessly as he broke the kiss. "I have regretted it every day, and I intend to make up for lost time. That is, if you will let me." He shrugged sheepishly. "Perhaps there is another suitor that you have."

Marian blushed. "Is it getting warm in here? Did I set something on fire accidentally?" she joked, feeling uncomfortable. She had waited so many years for him to say those words, that he still wanted her and needed her and now it was down to her to tell him how she really felt. She was just going to have to take a leap of faith. After all, it's only by falling that one knows if one can fly. "Fenris, I love you." she blurted out, squeezing her eyes shut, so she didn't have to see the reaction on his face. "I fell in love with you years ago and have not been able to get you out of my mind since, and it drives me absolutely mad because I know that you are worried about what I am." She risked a peek at his face, and was surprised to see that he was smiling.

The smile grew wider, from ear to pointy ear, and soon he was laughing. "Hawke, I am a former slave from Tevinter, a fugitive for the rest of my life, not to mention an elf. You are the most powerful woman in Kirkwall, and that has nothing to do with your magic abilities. It is your influence and leadership that have people flocking to you and looking up to you. I have always be in awe and respected you for that, regardless of the fact you can throw out the odd fireball now and then." He paused. "It is true," he said softly in her ear, "that magic is dangerous, but then again, I've been in danger my whole life, and yet this is the first time I have welcomed it." He nibbled down her neck as his hands slid up her sides. "I love you too, Marian." It was the first time that he had used her name. It sent waves of pleasure through her. She couldn't hold back any longer. She wanted him naked five minutes ago, and she was going to have her way.

"I can't promise I won't hurt you," she said in between kisses and licks. "If it is painful for us to be...intimate, I don't want to cause you any pain. But tonight, elf boy, you're just going to have to deal with it."

"As you say, Serah Hawke," the elf laughed. He enjoyed her teases and her advances. She was an aggressive woman in the best of times, and right now she was an unstoppable force. Her hands found the buckles holding his dark armor on, and deftly unclasped them, His chest was bare before her and she could see all of his silver-blue tattoos running down his chest and across his flat stomach. She traced them with her finger and they hummed slightly. She could hear the lyrium. It wasn't unusual that she could hear it, she didn't tell him this but she could always hear when he was close by. She found the sound comforting usually, but right now it just made her hungry. She ran the tip of her tongue along his neck, licking the markings and tasting the power held within. It stirred all of her senses and heightened her awareness. It was like drinking a lyrium potion, powerful and intoxicating. Addictive.

She nibbled her way down his chest and her hands worked on his trousers. She glanced at him, fluttering her sooty eyelashes, to see how he was enjoying it. The moans escaping from his lips were satisfactory and gave her permission enough to keep going. She rubbed his stiff bulge through the fabric, feeling it throbbing under her fingers. She could snap her fingers and his pants would fall off at her whim if she desired, but she preferred to do this manually, wrestling with the tight fabric. "I honeslty don't understand how these are both pants and shoes," she muttered.

Fenris stifled a laugh. "I don't understand humans and their obsession with shoes. Honestly, what does a satin shoe even do? It does not give any sort of protection, and it is an exorbitant waste of good coin." He would have said more, but Hawke had finally wrested his trousers to his knees and was busy tending to his manhood. She wrapped her fingers around the stiff base of his member and her lips on the swollen helmet. Precum oozed out of his cock, and her tongue deftly lapped it up, not missing a single drop. She swirled her tongue around the tip, pausing every now and then to gauge his reaction. The first time that they had slept together, there was not much foreplay. Hawke had been selfish that night, and did not take his virginity gently. She had been rough and aggressive, and had thought perhaps this was the reason he had stayed away. This time, however, she was pacing herself, forcing herself to slow down. She took his heavy sac in her free hand, massaging it gently as she opened her mouth wide, plunging his meaty sword down her throat all the way to the hilt. Fenris yelped and gasped in pleasure, hands gripping her hair tightly as his hips bucked involuntarily.

Her hot mouth felt so good on his shaft, better than it had felt plunging into her silky folds. He bit his lip to keep from crying out. He wasn't sure if this was purely a human thing, or if the elves did it too. He had no experience in the matter at all, but he was not against doing some field research at this point. The raven haired vixen began bobbing her head on his throbbing member and he moaned out, unable to control himself. He felt like he was on fire, his whole body tingling with pleasure. His tattoos started glowing faintly and he could feel the power coursing through them, faster and faster, pulsing in time with his quickening blood. "Hawke," he cried out hoarsely, voice thick with lust. "Please, Hawke." He wasn't quite sure what he was begging her for, whether it was to let him cum in her mouth, or for her to stop before his body burned up from the lyrium.

Hawke momentarily stopped sucking on his throbbing shaft, pulling it out of her mouth, long sticky ropes of saliva dripping off of the tip. "You're right," she said, although Fenris certainly didn't remember saying anything worth agreeing to. She got off of her knees and flashed a devilish smile. "Bed, now!" It wasn't an invitation, it was an order. Clear and authoritative, and Fenris immediately complied before he realized what was going on. He followed her to his bedroom, which was remarkably well-kept, obviously the only part of the mansion he had poured any coin into. A lush, four poster bed with thick sheets and a dark blue canopy, with silver threading. She raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was impressed, he had an eye for design.

"Get naked," she said, in a firm but much gentler voice than she had used before. The elf complied quickly and sat on the edge of the bed. He didn't know what to think. Part of him hated being ordered about like he was a slave, but part of him enjoyed it. He knew that Hawke had more experience in the bedroom and therefore he trusted her. She pulled her tunic off over her head and tossed it aside. Her breasts were free, pink rosy nipples already stiffening in the cool air of the mansion. She kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her trousers and her small clothes and dumped them onto the floor. She walked over to the elf, and he ran his hands over her naked skin. He admired her breasts, her taut stomach, and her soft hips. He grabbed her full bum cheeks, a moan of longing escaping his throat. His fingertips traced along her pubic area to her sex, buried in tight dark little curls. He found her pink folds, and rubbed his fingers along them, feeling the heat of her. He wanted to plunder her depths with his fingers, to explore every soft pink petal.

Marian pushed him backwards onto the bed and pinned his hands above his head as she straddled him, her sex pressed against his, rubbing against it but not letting him enter her. Yet. There would be plenty of time for that later. She kissed him hard, her tongue demanding that his yield to hers. Her hands tightened on his wrists and she gyrated her hips. His moans of pleasure, of want and need were intoxicating. She did it again, grinding her wet slit against his hardened shaft. She knew that she would not be able to wait much longer. She wanted to have him, desperately needed him to fill her completely.

Fenris was stronger than Hawke, and he was pinned down only because he was enjoying it for the moment, but he was getting impatient. He wanted her NOW and she was not giving up on her game of torturing him. Her tongue sliding over his in rhythm with her gyrations was driving him mad. He groaned as he felt his cock twitch and throb, rubbing against her sticky lips. He needed to have her soon, otherwise he was going to make a (huge) mess and that would be rather embarrassing. He blushed at the thought, his cheeks tinged pink. Hawke did not seem to notice, as she had moved on to nibbling on his ear, working down his neck and across his chest. She had loosened her grip on him somewhat and he saw this as his chance. He grabbed waist, and lifted her up, plunging his shaft inside of her. She gasped and cried out as his swollen helmet drove in deep. He kept a firm grip on her waist, moaning as he lifted his hips and began thrusting, driving upwards, faster and faster.

Marian cried out, her body shuddering with pleasure as he plundered her with his meaty length, his rod slick with precum and her own sweet honey slipping in fully and easily. He moved his hands down to her hips and held them tightly as he kept thrusting, his pace increasing. Her perky tits bouncing as she felt him drive in deep, pink velvet walls clenching on him. Her body was humming now, she realized, in harmony with his tattoos. They glowed brighter, the humming getting louder as his pace quickened and she knew he was about to reach the point of ecstasy. She was ready for it, squeezing his thickness with her sticky walls, she could feel her own moment approaching, but knew that the elf would get there first.

Fenris could feel himself getting close, knew that he was about to come, so he slowed down. Or at least, he tried to. It seemed his body had a mind of its own now and it was desperate to see this through to its end. He was grunting, guttural sounds escaping his throat as he pumped into his raven haired beauty. Her face a picture of perfection, throes of ecstasy painted on her delicate features. Her full, heaving bosom bouncing, those pink nipples hardened, standing to attention. He dug his nails into her back and scratched down the length of her back. She cried out, more in pleasure than in pain and tossed her head back, her wild moans filling the mansion. He knew that this was it, and Fenris pumped hard, his cock twitching and he felt himself come, his balls tightening and releasing his hot, sticky seed; he felt it splashing on her tight velvet walls, and his whole body thrashed and shuddered in pleasure. He lay there panting, eyes closed, cock still twitching as the last jets of cream spurted forth from his tip. Hawke leaned forward and kissed him on his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and finally on his mouth. She lay against his chest and listened to his heart beating. She would let him have this moment, she decided. Give him a few minutes to rest and to calm down, because she was not done with him, not by a long shot. She was going to have him again and again, and she was not going to stop until the sun came up. She might even go longer, she decided, until the others grew worried and Aveline sent out a patrol. She smiled at the thought and laughed.

"What's so funny?" Fenris breathed heavily, opening one bleary eye. He was exhausted, yet he felt complete. More alive than he had in his whole life. It was a different feeling this time. The marks on his skin did not cause him terrible pain, but rather immense pleasure. He thought he could get used to this. He ran his hand across his lover's cheek. "Just you wait and see, my dear little Fenris," Marian cooed in his ear. "I am not yet through with you. It's a good thing you're a trained warrior and have a lot of stamina," she chuckled as she rolled off of him, and laid one arm across his chest, her legs still entwined with his. "How do you feel about rope?" She laughed, an impish smile spread across her face.

"No rope," he muttered in between kisses. "Unless I get to be the one tying you up."

"Now there is an idea!"

The night wore on, and by morning the pair was thoroughly exhausted. Hawke had fallen asleep, nestled in Fenris's arms and he held her close. She was fidgeting in her sleep, occasionally waking. She would shake her hand or her leg, then fall back asleep. He lay comfortably for several hours until he realized that he could not feel his markings anymore. They had always bothered him to some degree, ranging from outright pain to annoying itch that could never be scratched, but for the first time since he could remember, they lay completely dormant in his skin, not even glowing faintly. He was too tired to wonder what it all meant right now, and drifted off to sleep.

Hawke, on the other hand, had figured out what was happeneing, sometime between the third and fifth round of their passionate lovemaking. The more intimate they became, the more attuned she was becoming to his magically enhanced markings. She knew that she could help ease some of his pain from their sexual trysts if she was willing to absorb the power into her, but she wasn't aware of what this would do to her own powers. She had hoped she was strong enough to contain it. If not, well, it was probably best to not worry about that at the moment. Her fingertips and her toes tingled, and static electricity discharged when she wriggled them, She had overdosed on lyrium once, in Lothering, and she felt similar now to when she did then. All her limbs tingled and she felt a surge of magic building up in her. She knew that she would have to discharge it somehow, otherwise all that pent up power could cause some real damage. Perhaps she would go to the Wounded Coast when she woke up and kill some bandits. She would drag Varric along, and perhaps set him on fire as well, for putting her up to this whole mess in the first place.

With that happy thought, she fell into a deep sleep, a smile firmly planted on her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Fenris finally woke, it was late afternoon. The sun was streaming in the dirty windows, dust caught in the beams of light, dancing and twirling as if caught in a ballet. Odd, thought the elf, he didn't normally think of ballets, even if he did tell Varric he choreographed dance routines and flitted about his estate perfecting them, obviously joking. Today he felt he really could do a dance, however. He still felt great from last night, a small smile spread on his face. He finally had made up with Hawke, he got a lot of fantastic sex, and he was only mildly sore. He stretched and cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders and looked over at the still-sleeping mage splayed in his bed. Only a sheet covered her, and it was not doing a good job at concealing her form, for which Fenris was thankful. He kissed her forehead and got up. His stomach grumbled and he realized that he was in desperate need of some food. He normally didn't keep a lot of food here in the house, mainly because he didn't know how to cook. There were still a lot of things Fenris was finding out that he had no idea how to do. He finally managed to get used to reading, and he even started learning to write, but still there were many things he just did not know how to do. He grabbed a hunk of cheese and a loaf of crusty bread, alternating bites, chewing thoughtfully.

Hawke had Bodahn and Sandal living with her in the estate. As far as Fenris knew, Bodahn did everything for Hawke, and that probably included cooking her meals. He wondered if she would be disappointed by his meager offerings. Perhaps he should go to the market and fetch something? Or maybe go to the Hawke estate and get Bodahn to help prepare a meal. He dusted the lingering crumbs off of himself and decided that when Hawke woke up, he would simply ask her. He had to learn to let his guard down at least a little bit, and trust that she was not going to run away simply because he didn't have any food in his house. He decided to let sleeping hawks lie for now, and went to the study. He had picked up one of Varric's serials, and started reading them. He was slow at it, but he enjoyed the story thoroughly. He couldn't tell his friend this, of course, because he knew once he did, Varric would use it as a selling point. "Even illiterate slaves will learn to read just to get their hands on my stories!" he could almost hear the dwarf bragging already.

The day wore on, and Fenris had made good progress in his book. Hawke hadn't woken yet, and he went to check on her again. It was unlike her to waste a day in bed. Normally she was an early riser, he had known this from past experience of sharing her bed and also sharing a camp with her. She was usually up well before sunrise and she was usually one of the last to bed. Sleep must not matter when one is a mage, he thought grumpily. If there was one freedom the elf particularly enjoyed, it was napping. Maybe he would just climb back into bed with his beloved and call it a day.

He entered his bedroom and stopped. He would certainly love to get in bed with Hawke and cuddle up, but obviously that was no longer an option. Hawke was not in bed. She was floating above it, and the room was crackling with electricity, caging her in.

"Hawke!" Fenris shouted and rushed in, but he couldn't get to her. Every time he tried to reach out and grab a hold of her, he got shocked. She didn't appear to be in pain, and she didn't seem to notice him, either. In fact, she didn't even appear to be awake. Fenris had never seen anything like this before, not even when he was present for Danarius's blood sacrifices and all the horrible rituals he had to observe.

He cursed under his breath, standing well back from the lightning cage, unsure of who to turn to.

Eventually he decided that he needed to see a mage, and that meant Anders. Anders was an abomination, seemingly possessed by a spirit of Justice, however Fenris felt it was more a demon, and the two never saw eye to eye. If there was a redeeming quality to the mage- and Fenris wasn't saying there was- it would be that he had never seen Anders resort to blood magic. In fact, he seemed to be wholeheartedly against it, unlike Merrill. Fenris gritted his teeth, balled his hand into a fist, and punched the wall, swearing as the blow connected. He stormed out of his house, not even caring that the wall had cracked from the floor to the ceiling.

He knew the mage would be in his clinic, in Darktown. Fenris hated going there, the smell of the sewers and filthy creatures that dwelled in the undercity wrinkled his nose. It reminded him too much of the slave quarters at Danarius's estate in Minrathous. He ran, not trusting Hawke to be left alone in such a state. He kept thinking if he had just stayed in the bedroom with her, he might have been able to stop this. He wondered how much of it was his own fault for not being careful enough, and how much of it he could honestly control. The answer to both questions would hopefully lie with Blondie, and the sooner he got there, the better.

He arrived at the clinic in what he felt was record time, and paused only for a moment to regain some measure of control over his breathing. He had a lot of stamina from fighting and normally running didn't leave him this winded, but he felt that he couldn't catch his breath. Everything was swimming in front of his eyes and he was shaking his head, desperate to clear his vision. It was no use, but again, Fenris didn't want to waste precious time. He barged in, calling for his companion. "Anders! Anders, it's Hawke! You have to come with me, now!"

Anders was leaned over a patient, healing magic glowing at his fingertips, being gently coaxed into the patient's broken arm. The blood stopped flowing, the flesh knit together, and there was a loud and unsettling crack as the bones reset themselves. Anders patted the patient on the shoulder and sent him off. "You should be fine. Take it easy though, I don't want to see you back in here tomorrow." He shook his hands and turned to the elf. "Fenris? I hardly ever see you in my clinic. You mentioned something about Hawke? Did she blow herself up again?" He chuckled, but caught the serious look on the elf's face. "Oh, it's something important, isn't it? Let's go, you can fill me in on the way."

Fenris nodded and set off again, turning on his heel abruptly and jogging out of the clinic, Anders just steps behind him. When they got back to Hightown, Fenris had filled Anders in on what was happening, but Anders had stopped him.

"Wait, so you saw Hawke, floating in the air, surrounded by a ball of electricity? In her home?" Anders was puzzled. Fenris never went to her estate, as far as he knew. He didn't keep many tabs on the elf, seeing as the two of them were always at odds about magic, he kept his mouth shut and away from Fenris whenever he had the chance.

"No, she is in my home." Fenris said in a matter of fact manner, and proceeded to his mansion. "I didn't know what to do with her, so I left her to get you."

Anders scratched his head. "But what did you do to her in your house? Did you hurt her? What is going on?" He followed anyway, but he was getting suspicious and he didn't like where this was going. The elf was genuinely afraid, and while Anders knew that he had no love for magic, he wasn't usually afraid of it. This meant that it was either really bad, or really, really, bad.

The pair hurried to Fenris's bedroom where Anders could hear the buzzing and crackling of electricity, and he pushed open the door. Sure enough, it was just as the elf had said, that Hawke was suspended in a lightning ball cage, unmoving, seemingly unconscious. "Well, I've never seen anything like that before," the mage muttered under his breath, edging closer. The static was filling the air, causing his hair to stand on end. He moved to just under Hawke, reaching his hand up to touch the cage. It shocked him, and he cried out, but put his hand up again, this time summoning a barrier spell. He was able to push his hand inside the cage and grabbed Hawke by her ankle. As soon as he touched her, the spell was broken, and she dropped out of the air, knocking Anders off of his feet and tossing her on him.

"Oof," he cried out. "I was not expecting that! She's… denser than she looks." He shook his head and looked down at the unconscious young woman. "Wait. Is she… Why is she naked!?" He pushed her off of him quickly and stood up, backing away, and looking anywhere but at her.

Fenris shuffled uncomfortably on his feet, clearing his throat, but not meeting the mage's gaze. "You mean… you and Hawke?" Anders clapped his hands. "Oh, but isn't this a fine mess! You, the anti-magic elf, and Hawke, the mage. Varric will have a field day about this! I bet it becomes a new romance series!"

"Is this really appropriate?" Fenris had moved to Hawke's side. She was breathing, but still unconscious. He tenderly brushed her hair aside from her face. "Is she going to be alright?" he asked without looking up. It would be just his luck, he thought, that this would end up hurting Hawke and again, he would be all alone.

Anders knelt down and lifted one of Hawke's eyelids, then he put his head to her chest to hear her heartbeat, and inspected her body, apparently no longer concerned that she was naked. He was in healer mode now, and Hawke his patient, so he was going to be thorough in his examination.

Finally he gave a thumbs up to the elf. "She's fine, physically, it seems." His eyebrows knitted together and he frowned slightly. "I've seen this happen before, in the Circle. Mages who overdosed on lyrium. It is usually only when they attempted a spell that was out of their element. Mostly apprentices who weren't experienced enough to realize what the blue juice does to you." He patted Fenris on the shoulder, who flinched in disgust at his touch. "She should be all right soon, most of the time it's only a few days being knocked out, but this seems like it was a pretty severe reaction. Was...was she using magic?" He wanted to phrase this politely, without delving into the elf's personal life too much. "In bed, I mean."

Fenris growled. "No she didn't use any magic on me. It was perfectly normal sex between two perfectly normal-" Anders interrupted, lifting up his hands. "Too much information, friend." He motioned to Hawke. "Let's put her back in bed. Do you want to move her to her estate, so that she can rest more comfortably?" Fenris shook his head. "It would look a bit odd for an escaped elf and a renegade mage to be carrying the naked champion through Hightown. We would have the guard on us in minutes, if not the Templars." Anders knew that Fenris was right.

"Well, it's best if Bodahn knows where she is, and I will tell the others too. Do you want someone to come stay with you, while you wait for her to wake?" He could tell that Fenris was on edge. The elf kept clenching his jaw and his hands were balled into fists. "No." the elf said flatly. Anders just nodded, and turned to go. As he reached the door, he had a sudden thought.

"Your tattoos are made of lyrium, aren't they?" Fenris eyed the mage warily. "You know that they are." Anders shrugged. "Well, I was just thinking, perhaps Hawke didn't drink any lyrium potions, but perhaps..she ingested it some other way." He tried his best to look nonchalant, but his eyes twinkleed with mischief. "Say, if perhaps, she was exposed to any fluids near a lyrium source, it would be imbued with its power."

The elf's dark green eyes flashed wide, and he quickly looked away from the healer. Staring at the floor, the ceiling, and anywhere but Anders, Fenris mumbled something that sounded like that might have happened once or twice the previous night.

"How should I put this tactfully?" mused the mage. "It seems your own vintage of lyrium potion is quite, ah, potent. No doubt a reason that you were so prized by your former master."

"Danarius never-" Fenris started, then changed his mind half way through. "Danarius always said that my markings were like a conduit, one that he or any other mage could tap into at will. I don't know how powerful I am in that regards, but whatever I am, or was, it didn't stop him from using blood magic as well."

The healer nodded, not saying anything. He knew that Fenris would always resent magic, and in a way, that was why they were similar. Where Fenris was subjected to the abuses of power that magic held, Anders was on the opposite, subjected to the torture that mages faced daily, just for having magical powers, whether or not they used them.

"If it helps, it's not really that dangerous." He smiled weakly. "Hawke is very powerful, and an accomplished mage, so she probably was just too exhausted from all your, um, dancing? Right, dancing."

Fenris rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. "Is it really that hard to believe that I have been with a woman, mage?" Anders laughed. "The most unbelievable part is not that you were with anyone, but it was with a mage. It just means that we aren't all as bad as you think."

The elf scowled. "Hawke doesn't have a demon living in her head. As for the rest of you, it's safe to say that you always need to be watched."

Anders shrugged. "Justice isn't a demon, he's a spirit of well, justice. He wanted Danarius dead, he isn't pro-mage, or pro-templar. He is just pro-justice. He feels compelled to right any and all wrongs, and he is raw emotion. But I am not going to explain myself to you, because I know that we will never agree. I really need to be going now, to tell the others about Hawke. If you need anything, send someone to get me. Otherwise, I will return in the morning to check on her myself." He opened Fenris' door and the cool air of the night came rushing in, ruffling both men's hair. "I am happy for you, you know. She's a good woman, and you deserve to be happy." And with that, he stepped out into the night.

Fenris stood, staring at his door. _I will never understand humans,_ he thought to himself and he returned to his bedroom where he sat at the foot of the bed, the silent guardian over his beloved Hawke.

The hours of the night had ticked by slowly, and Fenris was thankful to see that morning did in fact come. He was beginning to wonder if the sun would even bother rising, His mood had turned sour over the course of the night, every glance at his slumbering lady causing him to worry more, which made him grumpier. Her situation hadn't changed, so Fenris had not needed to send for Anders, and he wasn't even sure there was anything Anders could do for her anyway. He got up and stretched, easing tense muscles, flexing fingers and toes, relaxing shoulders. He had been on edge since this whole affair began, and it looked like it wasn't going to be over anytime soon.

His back cracked and he groaned. Maybe he was getting too old, or he needed to relax, because he had been sore for a few days now. He knew that Hawke had been a little rough, but he was not unaccustomed to rough treatment, and he was fairly active. He kept up his training, and it took a lot of work to hoist a two-handed axe like it weighed nothing. A sudden realization hit him. He was sore. His tattoos didn't hurt. Anders' comments. Danarius used to call forth the lyrium in his skin, to help fuel his rituals. It always left Fenris feeling on edge, a little tetchy. He never put it together before, but now he was starting to puzzle it out.

He had to know for sure. He summoned the magic infused in his skin and tried to phase punch his wall. Nothing. He didn't even glow. He tried again, concentrating harder, but still nothing happened. He realized he couldn't hear the humming, the buzzing that filled his ears when he summoned his power. He couldn't feel it coursing through his very blood, and the faintly blue aura that shimmered around the edge of his vision in the heat of the moment was gone too.

Hawke had absorbed all of his lyrium. She had taken it all into herself. Did she know that is what would happen? How could she, he thought, when he had just now pieced it together himself. He felt so stupid. The first time that they had slept together, he was in so much pain from his marks that he stayed away from Hawke for three years. Why didn't he realize that something had happened, when he specifically recalled not being in pain after rolling around in the sheets with her? Was he too distracted to think about it properly? He cursed, kicking the chest at the foot of the bed, the wood cracked in protest.

Fenris moved to Hawke's side, his eyes absorbing every detail. Her breathing seemed more regular and she was not glowing or on fire. He felt her forehead. She felt hot, like she was coming down with a fever, and her lips were bluish, like she was cold. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Hawke!" He shook her a little harder, digging his fingers into her skin. "Hawke! Wake up!"

Still, his little bird slept, completely unaware of her surroundings. He choked back a sob as fears flooded his mind. What if she never woke? What if she died? What would he do then? He couldn't wait for Anders to get here, he was going to go get the healer himself and he was going to demand that Anders do something. No, not demand. Beg.

He was halfway to the entrance hall when he saw Anders coming his way. "Ah, good morning!" Anders said cheerfully. "How is Hawke?" His face fell when he saw the intense look on the elf's face. It was broodier than normal, which meant that Hawke was not awake yet, and that could be problematic.

Anders rushed to her bedside and his suspicions were confirmed. She had all the signs. This was going to make things a little more difficult. He rubbed his temples. "Fenris, you might want to sit down." He knew the elf wasn't going to like this, especially because of how Anders intended to fix it.

"Tell me what is going on," Fenris said, tensing up. If Anders didn't tell him what was going on soon, he was going to lose his temper and beat it out of the human.

"She's trapped in the Fade, where we go when we dream…" Anders started. "And also the realm of spirits and demons." He looked at Hawke, before continuing on. "It's possible she just got stuck dreaming. Overdosing on the dust can do that to a person, but it is usually Templars who have the problem, not mages." He drummed his fingertips together. "She might also be trapped by a demon, and if that is the case, we need to send someone into the Fade to rescue her, and help guide her back to this realm. Leaving her unattended could have disastrous consequences, ranging anywhere from her death or to her becoming an abomination."

"How do we do that?" Fenris said, glaring at the healer. More demons. Why is it always demons with mages? He did not understand Anders, or the oppression that mages here in Kirkwall felt. It was better than the alternative, which was the Imperium.

"We need someone to go into the Fade, to help save her," Anders continued, sighing heavily. "The problem is, I can't go into the Fade. Not with Justice, so that doesn't leave a lot of options."

"What other options are there?" Fenris was getting more annoyed by the second. He started pacing around the room.

"Well, we can't send Merrill, since she already makes deals with demons, that is not going to help Hawke," Anders carried on. "So that leaves either the Circle of Magi, and we know that the Knight-Commander would lock up Hawke, or worse, and you."

"Me? What do I have to do with this?" Fenris hated anything to do with magic and now he was going to go into the Fade, where it all went wrong to begin with, if one believed what the Chant of Light said.

"It has to be a person that Hawke trusts, so that she can be woken safely. If it's not someone who has a deep connection with her, then she is likely to be confused." Anders said, soothingly. "Hawke obviously cares a great deal about you, and you must feel the same way, otherwise I think you'd have suggested we behead her already."

The elf grunted in response, and Anders knew that he had made his point. "Listen, Fenris, I know it is not ideal. You aren't a mage, and you aren't as ...accustomed to the dangers of the Fade that most mages are. It will be dangerous for you, but it is even more dangerous for Hawke."

"What do I need to do?" Fenris asked, his mouth going dry. This was all his fault. If Hawke hadn't slept with him, she would be safe. He had to fix this. He had to save her. He wouldn't let magic take this away from him too. "I've never been to the Fade."

"It will be alright, Fenris. I will put you to sleep, and you will wake in the Fade, where you already go when you sleep. You will be able to find Hawke since you are so close to her physically, then you just ...rescue her."

Fenris stopped pacing, and stared at the renegade mage with his dark eyes. "And what if she can't be rescued? How do I rescue her? It's not like I can take my axe with me or anything! I don't know what to do."

"Calm down, remember the Fade is a place that is ruled and shaped by emotions. Spirits of Faith and Courage dwell there, as well as demons embodying our sins. If you believe that you will find Hawke, you will find her. If you believe you can rescue her, you will. If you believe that all is lost and she was taken by demons, well that is likely to happen." Anders said gravely. This was serious, sending the elf to the Fade. He didn't want his companion to be unprepared, but he also didn't want to put the elf on edge any more than he already was. The Fade was a dangerous place, even to the most experienced mage, and Fenris was no mage. All the elf had to guard his mind against demons was his will, and Anders had to hope that that was enough.

"Hawke probably has a bunch of lyrium at her estate. If she doesn't have it, Bodahn will, since Sandal needs it for his rune making. We need to go get some, and then I can do the spell that will send you to the Fade." He put his hand on Fenris' shoulder, and for once, the elf didn't push him away. "I know it is frightening, and if I could go in your place, I would. But I would not suggest sending you if I did not think you were capable, and I will not let you come to harm."

"Unbelievable," Fenris muttered. "Of all the things I wanted to do today, placing my life in the hands of an abomination to enter the Fade was not even on that list."

Anders frowned. "I know what you think of me, Fenris. And you're right, I am an abomination, but I am also your friend and Hawke's so if you don't trust me, trust that I would never do anything to harm Hawke." Without another word, he left the mansion to go get the lyrium he needed to perform the ritual to send the elf to the Fade.

Fenris started pacing again, swearing in Qunlat. He kept throwing dirty looks at the door, wondering just how long it took Anders to go across the street. His hands were shaky, and he couldn't stop fidgeting. Danarius had often talked about the Fade to Fenris, saying it was a wonderful place of untapped power and potential. Those with enough skill and cunning, he had said, could rule the Fade and thus the mortal realm. The thought had never held any appeal to Fenris, in fact, it had revolted him. Now, in a cruel twist of irony, he was to go into the Fade himself to save the woman he loved.

Anders returned, arms full of lyrium bottles and behind him came Varric, who was carrying a large box. "There you are!" Fenris pounced, ready to chew out the mage. "You took your sweet time returning here."

"Nice to see you too, elf." Varric grunted, setting the large box down at the edge of the bed. "If I knew that Hawke was going to go get herself trapped in the Fade, I wouldn't have helped you get in her tunic." The rogue looked at Hawke, sleeping on the bed, as she twitched and thrashed occasionally.

"This is some weird shit, and this is even weirder than when Bartrand thought the idol was singing to him." He sat down in the empty chair next to the bed, propping his stubby legs on the edge of mattress.

"What are you doing here?" Fenris said, then turned to the mage. "What is he doing here?"

"Relax, Fenris," Varric said, putting his hands up in a mock defensive manner. "I ran into Blondie outside of Hawke's place, and he explained what was going on. I offered to come and help out."

Fenris didn't want to admit it, but he felt better knowing that the roguish dwarf was there. He didn't trust Anders, and he knew the mage knew that as well. "Let's just get this over with. What do I need to do?"

Anders instructed the elf to lay down on the bed, so Fenris climbed onto the four poster and laid next to Hawke, his body tense and rigid. Anders then had Varric hand him lyrium as he started weaving the spell that would send the elf's consciousness into the Fade. After several moments of working, the ritual was complete, and Fenris's body relaxed as he was sent to sleep, his mind now in the Fade.

Anders wiped the sweat from his brow and Varric shrugged. "And now, we wait."


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris woke up, feeling hung over. His head hurt and he shook it slightly to see if it would help clear the fog from his mind. It didn't, but he sat up anyway. He had been laying flat on his back, in the middle of a field it seemed? He frowned. He thought he was in his house, in Hightown. Why was it so damned foggy here? The light grated on his nerves too. He slowly stood up and brushed himself off. He remembered that he was in the Fade, and that he was probably being watched by demons and whatever else lurked in the shadows. He needed to find Hawke, and quickly.

Anders had said that he should be close to Marian in the Fade since he was close to her physically, but it felt like Fenris had walked for hours. Finally, he found Hawke. She was standing at the edge of a forest, or what looked to be a forest, peering down a path.

"Hawke!" Fenris jogged to her side, but she didn't appear to notice him, or hear him. She just kept staring down this forest path. He waved his hand in front of her face, scowling. Maybe it wasn't really her? It looked just like her, though. Still no reaction. He reached out to touch her, but found that his hand went straight through hers. It was as if he was a ghost. Or maybe she was the ghost? He wan't sure. She looked to the sky, eerie green light shining through swirling clouds. He looked up too, squinting, unsure of what it was his lover was looking at.

"I really hope that I can get out of this soon," Hawke said, her voice echoing. "I knew I should have told him what was happening." She looked down at her hands, and Fenris saw that they were covered in… blood? No, that couldn't be blood...could it? It wasn't the first time he had seen Hawke covered in blood. In their line of ...well work wasn't exactly the appropriate word, lifestyle, perhaps, it was an unusual day indeed when someone didn't have to wash blood off their hands or out of their hair.

Hawke sighed, staring back at the forest path. It seemed brighter, friendlier than it had just a few moments ago, Fenris thought. He wondered why she kept looking down it, maybe there was something inside? He wasn't sure, and he didn't like not knowing what was going on or why Hawke couldn't see him or touch him. He tried to think back to all of the things that Anders had said to him as he was beginning the ritual, and all he could really recall was that the Fade reflected he wasn't emoting enough for her to notice him? He scowled, trying to think of what emotion he should exude. If his friends were any judge, they would all say he was a professional brooder. Maybe he should try brooding harder?

This was stupid, he thought, his scowl deepening and his brow furrowed. He kicked the ground, swearing in Qunlat again. Why did that stupid mage think that sending him in the Fade was a good idea? Fenris never understood mages and he never understood magic. This whole idea was idiotic and a waste of his time, he wasn't getting any closer to rescuing Hawke, and now it had started to storm. This could not get any worse. He folded his arms across his chest, then it dawned on him. It was raining. It was raining right now, storming even. Winds, thunder, lightning, rain. All of it. Because he was brooding. He gazed up at the sky, and sure enough, the green lights and swirling clouds had transformed to black, fat rain-filled clouds, lightning arcing and cracking between them, as they converged right above him. It was only raining on the elf. Of course it was.

Hawke looked up and saw the clouds transforming and she thought she heard the sound of thunder. She looked around, curious. "I wonder what is causing that," she eyed the clouds warily. "It reminds me of Fenris after he has talked with Anders!" She chuckled to herself, thinking of her elven lover. She missed him, and she had hoped she was doing the right thing. She knew that as long as he had that lyrium tattooed into his skin, that he would always be a conduit of power and therefore a target. She had hoped that by absorbing as much as she could and then finding a way to seal it away in the Fade, she would free him from a life of pain and pursuit, if only for a little while.

She doubted that anyone could remove the force completely from the elf, but perhaps she could lock part of it away to help him cope with it. She just hadn't planned on getting caught in the Fade herself, unable to go back, yet unwilling to move forward.

As soon as she had arrived in the shadowy dream world, a spirit approached her. It was a demon, she was reasonably sure, and it had promised the ability to help Hawke finish her task, in exchange for help to cross the Veil. Hawke had refused, saying that she could manage well enough on her own, thank you, but no thanks, and shooed the demon away. The creature hadn't like this, of course, a cocksure mortal telling it what to do in its own territory, and told the mage that she would never leave the Fade, that it would trap her here until she agreed to its terms. Hawke had rolled her eyes at this, and said that she has heard it all before, begone spirit, shoo! Maybe not the wisest thing she could have said, but she felt that it was the right decision. No good ever came from a demon's help.

The demon had been truthful, in part, at least, because Hawke had tried to get back across the Veil into the physical realm for what felt like years, though she suspected it had only been a day or two at most. She knew that she was still alive in the physical world at least, and part of her could still recall what it felt like to be awake and moving around. She hoped that holding on to that sensation would help to anchor her to the mortal realm and keep her from getting too lost in the Fade.

Hawke had made up her mind. She was going to go down this forest path, even though she was reasonably certain that the demon was laying in wait for her. She also could feel that there was a place of power, stronger than any other she had felt so far in the Fade, and thought this would be a good place to seal up some of the conduit's power. She wished though, that her friends were with her, because the Fade could be a dangerous place if one was left alone in it for too long. The spirits liked to play tricks, conjuring images from the past. Memories best left to lie, and not to be awoken. She gripped her staff tightly in her hands and set out on the path. "Maker preserve me," she whispered under her breath, gathering her courage up. She would need every last ounce to do what must be done.

"Wait!" Fenris cried, as Hawke disappeared past the edge of the forest. "Where are you going? Hello?" He called out again but Hawke didn't seem to hear, though she had paused for the briefest of moments, turning her head, and Fenris thought maybe she had heard him. Hawke ventured on, deeper into the wild woods, and he knew that he had to follow her.

On and on the path went, winding this way and that, he climbed over tall, overgrown roots, and ducked under low slung branches, following the mage's path as best as he could. Either she was more adept at walking through thick underbrush than he, or the Fade was somehow making it difficult for him to keep up with her, because she would occasionally get out of his sight, and he would panic, only to catch up with her again in the next moment.

He wasn't sure what was going on, and that made him afraid. Maybe this wasn't really Hawke, but a demon playing at being her? Or maybe she was already possessed and he was being led to his doom. He tried to suppress those thoughts, recalling again what Anders had said. "The Fade reflects your emotions. For good or for ill, keep hold of your emotions and it will be less challenging for you." Fenris thought he had pretty good control over his emotions already, but he was quickly learning that there was not as much control as he thought, especially when it came to people that he cared about.

Hawke stopped. She had made it to a clearing in the middle of a forest, and there, in the center was an Eluvian. This mirror looked similar to the one in Merrill's home, but different. It shimmered with energy, humming quietly, beckoning the mage and yet content to be left alone. It was an odd feeling, this power. Ancient, wild. Hawke could see the allure of it now. Before she had not understood why Merrill was willing to give up everything, clan and life, to restore a dusty old relic, and now she knew. This was an old magic, from the days of Arlathan. That it was in the Fade testified to the lasting power of the ancient elves, even if they were not around any longer. She walked up to the mirror and saw that it did not reflect her image, but of another place. As she peered into the giant looking glass, she understood. It was not a mirror in any normal sense, but a means of transportation. Knowledge came unbidden to her, whispering of how the ancient elves used the Eluvians to travel all across Thedas, of secrets hidden across the very fabric of time. As she stood pondering the mirror and all that it meant, processing the secrets that the Fade had tempted her with, the demon slunk out of its hiding place among the shadows and crept up behind her.

It was a Desire demon, drawn to Hawke's passionate desire to help her friends, her strong need to protect Fenris from himself and others. It manifested itself into what appeared to be a woman, naked except for long chains covering and hanging from its breasts. Its black eyes focused on Hawke's unsuspecting form, draping its arms round her shoulders. Hawke stiffened in surprise, trying to get away, but the demon already had a fierce grip on her.

"Hello, pet, we meet again," the demon cooed in her ear, its voice feminine, yet monstrous, soft yet echoing. "I see you have found the prize you sought."

"And I didn't even need help from you, foul creature," Hawke said, smiling despite the feelings of disgust at being touched by a demon. "I guess you're just going to have to go and prey on some lesser mortal, because I am done talking."

"Such fire in your heart," Desire said, her voice dropping even lower. "I know what it is you want most in the world, and the next. You want to protect that pretty elf of yours." Hawke continued to try and untangle herself from the demon's grip, trying not to listen. Her face betrayed her though, cheeks flushing as she thought of Fenris, laying naked on his bed. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. "You'll have to try harder than that, demon," she said through gritted teeth.

Desire chuckled, a small throaty laugh. It fully intended to try harder. It loved a good game of cat and mouse. The prize was always so much sweeter when it resisted in the beginning. "Now, now, is that any way to talk to a friend," the demon spoke softly, its mouth against Hawke's ear as it grabbed her head and forced her to look into the Eluvian again. This time the image shifted, no longer showing a place, but a person. A person that Marian knew very well, and one that she had longed to see again.

Bethany. Her sister. Bethany, who died in Lothering, seven years ago. Her best friend. Hawke wanted to screw her eyes shut and to not look at the mirror, but she couldn't turn away. She missed her dear sister more than she had ever let on. She felt the pain of Bethany's passing every day, it was not a death she would ever get over, and nor did she want to. She kept that pain locked away, held it tight. It was because of Bethany and her death that Hawke had kept going on, that she had made a name for herself, that she had reclaimed the Amell Estate for her mother, to allow Carver to join the Templars. Everything that Hawke did, she had done in Bethany's honor, even if she had never told anyone else about it.

"Go away," Hawke whispered, closing her eyes at last, "you're not real, and I won't be tricked."

The demon chortled in her ear. "What if she wasn't dead, your sister? What if I could give you the power to bring her back to life, to have her standing next to you in the sunshine, or to walk into your fancy home and have her sitting there, writing letters to your brother?" The demon's tail flicked with delight, seeing Hawke squirm, hungering for her life force. "You do remember how she loved to write, don't you? Even your surly brother admitted he liked reading her letters." Hawke knew the demon wasn't lying, that it was feeding off of her own memories, but she couldn't help but recall all the letters that Bethany had wrote her, even if Marian was standing right next to her. Bethany loved to write poetry, stories, little notes of love and encouragement, and she showered her loved ones with these letters. She knew that Carver had also kept his, and that he had taken them with him to Ostagar. She had caught her brother reading them more than once in Gamlen's shack in Lowtown.

Desire felt the mage's resistance faltering, and it kept up the attack. "You regret her death, and you have vowed to do whatever it takes to protect those you love. So admirable, so strong." Its hands trailed over Hawke's body suggestively, before grabbing her chin and turning her face towards its own. "Such a lovely creature, your elf man. All those rippling muscles, tall yet lanky. Strong, yet delicate features. Those _gorgeous_ dark eyes. The way your tongue could trace his tattoos all the way down his body." It leaned in closer, mouth hovering over hers as it whispered. "The way his lips felt as they pressed against yours, his tongue slithering into your eager mouth."

Hawke groaned, recalling every moment she had spent with Fenris, and it sent a wave of heat through her body. She felt her heart quickening, her hands were shaking. She longed to be with him again, soon, soon she could. She just had to finish this thing. Whatever this thing was. She couldn't remember what it was she was doing here. What thing was it?

Desire pressed its lips against Hawke's, kissing her, tasting of her life force. The spirit of the mage was strong, more powerful than any this demon had felt in recent memory of the Fade. Not that memories mattered to a demon, time was nothing if not fluid in the Fade, and the waiting only made it hungrier.

Hawke tried to resist the kiss, but memories were swirling around in her mind, making it difficult to focus. She tried to think of a way out of this, tried to push the demon away as its scaly tongue slithered into her unwilling mouth, causing her to choke and gag. She knew that she didn't have the strength to banish the demon on her own, but perhaps she would be able to deal with it another way.

"Alright," she mumbled, trying to talk around that scaly tongue and not throw up from the thought of it, pushing away the demon's clawed hands, talons scraping her cheeks in her haste to get it off of her. The razor sharp claws drew blood and the demon busied itself licking them clean, much like a cat taking a bath. "Tell me what it is you want, demon, so that I can be done with you," Hawke said, trying to sound convincing. She just needed to let the demon think that she had decided to make a deal with it, and perhaps she could outsmart it. She just need to keep her wits about her and let it play out just so.

"I want to cross the Veil, to experience all that the mortal world has to offer," the demon said soothingly, but its eyes belied its intentions. It was starving now, having tasted the mortal's blood, it wanted to consume her, to feast upon her life force, to grow stronger from it. It was manifesting into a demon of greed, of lust and envy.

"Say I was willing to let you go, to leave the Fade. How would I do that, and what would I get in return?" Hawke asked, nonchalantly, but her mind was buzzing with options. How to get out of this, without the demon catching on? How to get out of this without becoming a tasty snack or worse, the demon riding her body around like a flesh jockey. "You say that you want to deal demon, yet I've heard no terms that interest me." Hawke shrugged, and leaned against the edge of the Eluvian, eyes focused on the demon, hand gripping her staff tightly behind her back.

"I will show you how to bind the elf's powers, to keep them locked safe, from all who would dare try and use it, save for you. You alone would have the power to reverse the ritual" the demon said, running its hands all over its naked body, clearly turned on by the taste of blood in its mouth and the thought of having such a scrumptious feast. Hawke shrugged. "What if I don't want to lock his power away? What if I want to control him instead?" She continued her line of questioning, stalling for time. She needed to convince the demon utterly that she was going to take the deal. She could do it, if she were lucky.

Luck, however was not on Hawke's side. One minute, she was talking to a desire demon, trying to goad it into making a mistake so she could bind it, the next moment its head was split in two, spraying her with dark blood as its screams filled the air, and it sunk to the ground, fading from view. Hawke wiped the blood from her eyes on her sleeve, looking around to see what had happened. It did not take her long to figure it out. "Fenris," Hawke breathed.

The lanky elf stood there, hoisting his two handed axe up, and he did not nearly seem as happy to see her as she was him. In fact, he looked beyond angry. He was pissed.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"What if I don't want to lock his power away? What if I want to control him instead?" The words were still buzzing around in his head, and it made him angry. He should have known better! He should have not been so stupid as to trust anyone to get close to him, let alone another mage. It was just as he had always feared. Hawke was no different than any other mage he had known. She was just like Danarius in the end, using him to only further her own goals. All the kisses, the promises of protection, helping him kill Danarius, it was all a lie! He burned with anger, rage coursing through every fiber of his being.

If that was the way that she wanted it, so be it. It would not matter to him, she would just be another mage he had to kill to keep his freedom. Better that he learned it now, while she was in the Fade. A death in the Fade would only turn her Tranquil, and from then on, she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone ever again. Including him. He didn't evne know where he had gotten his axe, or where it had come from. He didn't remember how he had crossed the forest clearing, axe raised and ready to strike. He only knew that he had severed the demon standing in his way, battle rage taking over, blood boiling.

He wrenched his weapon out of the demon's head and it crumpled to the ground, discarded and forgotten, and Fenris looked into the face of his lover, smirking as she leaned against a mirror.

Hawke's smirk was quickly replaced by surprise, as Fenris stood in front of her. She didn't like the way that he was holding his axe, with it poised and ready to strike. Aimed at her. She definitely didn't like the look of anger and betrayal on his face, and the waves of rage rolling off of him, his aura overpowering in this quiet place in the dream world.

"What are you doing here, Fenris?" Hawke asked, not daring to take her eyes off his weapon, treating it as one would a poisonous snake found amongst the grass, poised and ready to strike at any provocation.

"You lying bitch-born harlot," spit Fenris, anger seething. "I was a fool to think that you were any different. You're just like Danarius, just like the rest of the mages. The only mercy you deserve to be shown is a quick death."

"Woah, what?" Hawke couldn't believe her ears. "Hang on, I think you have misunderstood the situation, Fenris." Hawke let go of her staff, dropping it to the ground, an offer of peace. Not that that really mattered, as both of them knew that she could cast spells without her staff, it just made it easier. Still, she used her foot to kick it away from her, eyes still focused on the elf's face, not daring to even blink.

"I have misunderstood nothing, whore," he said quietly, eerily quiet. The kind of quiet where death followed quickly. Hawke was done for. He would see to it himself. "I heard you making a deal with that demon, heard what you said about controlling me." His grip tightened on the hilt of his axe, palms already sweaty. He didn't want to have to kill her, but he wasn't going to take any chances either. He lunged, striking so fast that Hawke barely had time to dive out of the way. She stumbled and fell. Fenris loomed over her, turning on his heel, ready to strike again. She threw up her hands and summoned a barrier, fingers flinging out the spell before she even thought about it. The killing blow glanced off the barrier, but it connected with her shoulder.

Blood poured from her arm, she cried out in pain as it soaked the forest floor. She was in too much pain to move, Fenris wrenched the axe from her shoulder and lifted it above his head, and she knew that he intended to kill her. She stopped holding on to her shoulder, opened her eyes and looked at him, ready to face her attacker.

She smeared blood on her injured hand, clapped them together and sent a lightning bolt shooting from her fingers, arcing toward the elf, hitting him squarely in the chest. It knocked her attacker back, sending him careening through the air before he landed flat on his back.

Fenris was stunned, the breath knocked out of him, he lay there gasping for air for a moment, before rolling over and pushing himself up. Hawke was still on the ground, but she had rolled over on to her stomach and was attempting to push herself up onto her knees with her uninjured limb. She was shakin badly, gasping for breath between gritted teeth, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes. Fenris was attacking her. She was going to lose, she was going to die, her arm was all but useless now, blood gushing from the gash in her shoulder, soaking her armor, her glove filling up with blood.

She had foolishly thought if she had just put down her weapon that Fenris would hesitate long enough for her to explain. She should have known better. He was too paranoid of magic, had been abused so long that there was never any chance of him backing down. It was a primal instinct, and he was very much the little wolf with his back against a wall.

Her vision was fading, she felt like she was going to pass out, her head spinning. She kept trying to push herself up, because if she gave up, she knew he would kill her. Shakily, she got to her knees. She could see him approaching, she didn't have any more time, she needed to get up NOW but her body wouldn't obey. Her legs wouldn't stand, her arms wouldn't stop shaking, fingers wouldn't move to perform the healing spell. She choked back a sob, refusing to let him have the satisfaction of killing her when she was on her knees. She would stand. She willed herself to get up, grunting, finally standing on her feet, although barely. She leaned against the Eluvian for support, her bloody arm smearing the mirrors dark surface with crimson.

"Fen-," she started to say, but her mouth wasn't moving as it should, her tongue thick and dry, as if she had woken from a night of heavy drinking. "Fenris, don't." She needed to tell him it was a ruse, that she never wanted to use his power for her own gain, it was just to distract the desire demon long enough for her to banish the creature, only she never got the chance.

He advanced on her, grabbing her by the collar of her coat, yanking her off her feet. She yelped, pain shooting through her arm and she used her good arm to grab at his face, trying to push him away. Her eyes caught his, she could see the pain and the sadness, the anger and the betrayal all swirling together in his large, emerald eyes.

"I love you," she whispered, coughing as she drew another ragged breath. "I came… I came here to help you. To make it- make it not hurt any more." Words were fuzzy in her brain and she was having trouble articulating what it was she needed to say. "The lyrium. It needed….blood. Needs blood to… to stop the flow."

Fenris tightened his grip on her. "What do you mean you did this for me? Do you think I am some child that needs to be looked after, to be controlled?" He wanted to snap her neck, to fling her from him and to leave this place forever. "Please," Marian gasped. "listen… Tevinter-Varric knew. Thought I could… help." The elf loosened his grip. Varric had mentioned that he was going to check his sources and see if he could find a way to reverse the lyrium tattoos, but Fenris never held out any hope for it, and had heard nothing about it again from the dwarf for several years. He set Hawke down on her feet, still keeping a grip on her collar, though whether to keep her from trying anything crafty or help keep her from falling over he wasn't sure.

"Thanks," Hawke gasped, using her uninjured arm to steady herself, gripping on to his arm tightly. "The Vints. Varric intercepted mes-messages." She closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind, but her arm was hurting so badly, and she had lost a lot of blood, it made it difficult to think. "Fenny… please." Fenris shifted his weight, the use of his nickname softened the hatred in his heart. He couldn't stand to see her in so much pain, but he was wary of her trying any magic. He did want to know more about these messages from Tevinter, if they even existed. He loosened his grip some more, and nodded, but didn't take his eyes off of her. She smiled weakly, before summoning a healing spell. Obviously the effort of the spell was incredible, Fenris noted, because she was shaking and by the time she had cast it, the wound in her shoulder closing, but just barely. It looked now like it was a few days old, rather than completely healed over. She leaned against the mirror, resting, her eyes closed for a moment while she caught her breath.

Hawke was glad that Fenris had stopped trying to kill her. This was very important and needed to be said, they were losing too much time in the Fade, Hawke had already been here too long. If she didn't get back to her body soon, she would die. People were not meant to spend days at a time in the Fade, it severed the connection between body and spirit. The body withered, the spirit remained trapped.

"My love," she said, eyes still closed, eyelids fluttering. "I am sorry. I should have told you what my intentions were. Varric said that the magisters from the Imperium were wondering about Danarius's death and… they were interested in appropriating his lost property," she opened her eyes and looked at him, pain still evident on her face, but a sense of relief too. "We thought that they were going to come after you again, and I thought...I thought maybe if I tried to hide away some of your powers, they wouldn't be able to track you so easily, and we could...leave." She didn't say that she wanted to leave with him, to start a life somewhere where there weren't templars and mages embroiled in a power struggle. She had been wanting to run away from Kirkwall for a while now, because everything that had held her here was crumbling around her. The only reason she had stayed was because she felt that she had to, and she didn't want that responsibility anymore.

"Leave? Leave Kirkwall….together." Fenris said slowly, making sure that he understood. Hawke had attempted to subdue the lyrium in his skin, in an effort to hide him from the magisterium? Obviously something had gone wrong, though. She was in the Fade, trapped, and he was here to rescue her, but that had gone wrong too. Instead he had almost killed her. Out of fear of betrayal. "But why were you in the Fade? I don't understand."

Hawke laughed bitterly. "I didn't mean to end up in the Fade, you know. I overdosed, I think. On you. When we were boning. Do you remember?" She was feeling a little better now, and her snarky attitude was back. "I hadn't meant to absorb your lyrium nonsense during our roll in the sheets, but surprise! It happened anyway." She waved her good hand, clearly brushing aside her own comments. "I thought, well, hey! Since I am taking a stroll in the dream realm, why not see if I can bind it here, and then we won't have to worry about it for a while!"

Fenris cocked an eyebrow and suppressed a smile. It was just like Hawke to take to sarcasm and snarky comments when she was upset. He still wasn't sure if he should trust what she said. It seemed to make sense, but what did he know about magic and the Fade? Nothing, or close to it. "What do we do now?" he said tentatively, unsure of how to proceed.

"Well, I think we need to get back to the physical realm soon," Hawke mused, trying to stand on and support her own weight. She was hesitant to ask Fenris for help, considering just a few moments ago he was ready to kill her outright, and she felt that if she left herself vulnerable like that, it would not end well for her. She cast a wary glance in his direction and saw that he had moved closer to her, but still kept his distance. Obviously he was feeling the same way, unsure on whether or not to trust.

Their relationship was so new, so fragile, was it so easily undone? All those years of having one another's back in fights against everything from spiders to darkspawn to the Qunari, and it vanished in to the oblivion of the Fade. Maybe the trust was never really there, she thought sadly. "It should be easy enough to get back to the physical world now," she said slowly, as she shuffled along ahead of the elf, keeping her back to him.

"I think...I think when you attacked me," she wanted to say "attempted to murder me" but that sounded a bit bitter, so she just went for the most neutral term she could come up with at the moment, albeit it wasn't neutral at all. "I think it severed the connection holding me here. It was that Desire demon, it had done something so I kept turning round in circles. Or maybe squares. I can sense where I need to go now, though. Can you feel your way back too?" Hawke couldn't imagine how a nonmage had even entered the Fade, let alone find his way back. She knew that everyone, save for dwarves, entered the Fade while they slept, but it seemed that only demons preyed on mages.

"Yes, I can feel where I need to go," Fenris said, still lagging behind Hawke. He was so used to trailing behind her that it was second nature, and he didn't even realize how much slower than normal she was moving. "By the way, how did you get into the Fade?" Hawke asked.

"Anders," stated Fenris simply, and no further explanation was needed.

"I was a little surprised to see you in the Fade, Fenny," the dark haired woman said. "It must have been his idea to send you?" She could feel the elf's eyes on her and she flushed.

"Yes," he said, and that was the end of the conversation.

Hawke wondered what that meant. Obviously, Anders wouldn't come himself, he had made that abundantly clear before, that he did not like to enter the Fade anymore with Justice, as it was too difficult to control himself. He probably wouldn't have tried to behead her, but she was only guessing. No, he must have sent Fenris because of her relationship to him. Whatever that relationship was, or had been, had changed from the moment he had openly attacked her.

"You used blood magic," Fenris sneered, still following her as she shuffled along, his critical eyes on the back of her head, his hatred boring into her skull.

"Well, you were trying to kill me, and I didn't have the power to stop that from happening," Hawke made no apologies. "I mean, I could barely cast a healing spell to keep my arm from being severed off, which you did before I cast any magic, remember."

"Mages always turn to blood magic, no matter what." He said grumpily. He had thought Hawke might have been different. He wasn't sure still if he had made the right choice in attacking first, asking questions later. His own basic need for survival had preempted any other thoughts he might have had, any common sense that he might have possessed. He did know that Hawke was cunning, she obviously needed to be, since she was an apostate and managed to stay out of the Templars' wrath, even given how prominent of a citizen of Kirkwall she had become. Fenris wasn't sure if it was her status as Champion that protected her, or if it was her wealth, or her cunning. Whatever it was, she was not a person to be underestimated by any means, and it seemed he had done just that. For good or ill.

Hawke wheeled around, turning on the elf, grabbing him by the shoulder with her uninjured hand. "Fenris, if you had not attacked me, I would not have nearly died. In the Fade! I would have been made Tranquil, and it would have been entirely your fault!" she said hotly. She hadn't wanted to get into this argument here, but it seemed that this wasn't going to wait.

"You were consorting with demons," the elf growled, his face growing hot, the tips of his long pointed ears turning red. "What was I supposed to do, let you deal with them?"

"Yes!" Hawke interrupted. "Do you not think that I have been tempted by demons before?" She clenched her jaw, trying her hardest not to fly off the handle, but she couldn't help it, she felt so betrayed. "They plague every mage, Fenris. All the time, every night when I go to sleep, they try and beckon. I have never, not once, given in. I have always outsmarted, outmaneuvered, and outright refused everything that they 'offered' me." She said, exasperated, "I only had trouble with this one." Her blue eyes searched his, wondering if he would believe her.

"I… did not know." He felt foolish. Of course she would have had experience with demons before. It was his own paranoia that had got the better of him. She smiled and patted him on the cheek, teasingly.

"Calm down, little wolf," she laughed. "Let's go back." she wrapped her arm around his shoulders, and she let herself lean on him a little bit, as they returned to the point in the Fade where they could wake up.


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris woke up, startled, eyes flashing open. He was back in his mansion. He looked over at Hawke, and she was awake too, clenching her arm, as Anders hovered over her, fussing.

"What happened? Why are you bleeding?" Anders inquired, his fingers moving quickly as he cast a healing spell, the calming aura washing over Marian as she relaxed, crimson blood clotting, tissue knitting together. "I was trapped," Hawke said, slowly as she tried to breathe in deeply. "Desire demon."

Anders nodded but still looked unconvinced. "And it just happened to have a weapon, did it?"

"Shit," Varric said, rubbing his head, "I didn't know that you could get injured in the Fade. Makes me glad that dwarves don't have to deal with that nonsense. Are you okay?"

Hawke tried to sit up, but Anders pushed her back down gently. "Rest, it's healed over, but there is going to be a scar. It cut pretty deep, you're lucky it was able to be saved."

"It was my fault," Fenris spoke up, hanging his head. "I saw the demon confronting Hawke, and I panicked."

"You panicked, and attacked your girlfriend?" Varric said incredulously. "Well, that sounds like an interesting story. Care to elaborate?"

"Not really," grunted Hawke, sitting up, shooing away Anders who threw up his hands in mock defeat. "It was a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding? Hawke, I do not think that word means what you think it means," Varric said, raising an eyebrow, but when neither the Champion or the elf said anything, he didn't press the issue. He had the sense to see that this was a relationship thing.

"Tell me what happened," Anders cut in. "Not about the arm, that's fine, just why did you get trapped?" One of the healer's fears was getting trapped in the Fade, especially now that he and Justice were one, what if Justice was able to return to the Fade, but it kept Anders there too? He shuddered and tried not to think about it. "You said it was a desire demon?"

Hawke nodded, and took the glass of water that Varric had shoved into her hand, gulping it down, and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing as she moved her sore shoulder. "Yes, I didn't realize that I had, uh, _absorbed_ so much of the lyrium conduit directly," she said as tactfully as she could, and no one thought it was tactful at all. "Naturally, that had drawn the attention of interested parties in the Fade, once I had passed out. I am pretty sure it was an overdose." she tried to shrug it off, but she was still shaken up about the whole experience. "Anyway, the demon wanted me to help it cross the Veil, I said no, it got cranky, and one thing led to another, then it trapped me in the Fade. Fenris showed up and killed the demon, and that severed the link, so I was able to return."

"That wasn't the only thing that got severed," Anders grumbled, clearly not liking the situation.

"Varric, tell Fenris about the Tevinters," Hawke prompted, eager to move the conversation in a different direction, shooting a quelling glance at Anders

"Right," the rogue cleared his throat. "Apparently, the Vints don't like it when you a kill a member of the Magisterium, unless they approve of it." He smirked. "I followed up on some information gathering I was doing, trying to see if I could help you with that whole glowing escaped slave look you have going on for you, and I have it on good word that the Vints are coming for you."

"So it was true, what you said in the Fade," Fenris turned to look at Marian, who flashed a smile and a wink, before shoving another chunk of bread in her mouth. Anders had got her something to eat, and she was grateful, having been unconscious for nearly two days did leave her feeling starved. The bread was chewy, and mostly fresh, but it still took her several moments to swallow. "Why would I lie about something like that?" she mumbled through a mouthful of food.

"What are you going to do about it, Hawke?" Anders said, as he busied himself cleaning up empty bottles of lyrium. The room was faintly humming with the song of magic, but no one was paying it any attention. Varric and Fenris couldn't hear it, but Anders and Hawke were so used to it, they were able to tune it out without much effort.

"I thought I would ask them politely to leave," Hawke said with a considerable amount of snark. "Failing that, I suppose I could just set them on fire. That usually works!"

Fenris sat in silence, fretting, wondering to himself if he would ever be free of the Imperium and how could Hawke be joking at a time like this? His very life was on the line, and here she was, sitting next to him, laughing about how she would set them on fire if they did not _please leave_. He snorted angrily. _This could not be any worse_. There was a time in his life, not long ago, if he had learned of a plot involving slavers or the magisters he would have called on Hawke for help, knowing she would have jumped to his side and helped defend him and his freedom. Now he wasn't so sure of what to think. He kept recalling that moment in the Fade.

"_What if I don't want to seal his power away? What if I want to control him?"_

_Control him._

**Control him.**

**Control**.

He could have sworn that Hawke was smirking in the Fade, could have sworn he saw the avarice in her eyes-no, he knew! Knew that it had been there, that it wasn't a lie. He needed to get away. He needed to run. Hawke was just going to turn him over to the Magisters, he was going to end up back in Minrathous- his heart was racing, and his shoulders stiffened, muscles coiling, ready to fight or flee- he wasn't listening to the conversation any more. He couldn't hear their voices, they were muffled, his ears deafened with the sound of his own blood pumping, banging like a thousand drums.

He knew it had been stupid to get so close to Hawke, to allow himself to give in to carnal pleasures. If it had just ended with sex, maybe it would not have been a problem, but no, he had to go and develop _feelings_. His lip curled in a sneer. He was disgusted with himself, with Hawke, with the whole situation. He wanted everyone out of his house, _now_.

"Everyone needs to leave," the elf said quietly. When no one moved, or seemed to hear him in the two seconds he decided to give them to leave, he shouted it. "EVERYBODY OUT!" he roared.

The other three exchanged glances, Anders stood up and Varric shrugged. Hawke looked questioningly at Fenris as if to say _Did you mean me as well?_ and his glare very clearly said _Especially you_. Hawke waited a few moments for the men to turn around, so that she could get dressed.

"Well, turn around!" she hissed, and Anders raised an eyebrow and Varric wouldn't wipe the silly grin off of his face. "You know you've been naked for like, two days, right? And Blondie here made sure to check over every inch of you for wounds," the dwarf smiled cheekily.

Fenris was losing his mind. They were still here, still in his house and now Varric has to say that Anders checked over Hawke's naked body _while she slept_ like he was some huge disgusting _pervert._

The elf knew all about the healer's 'secret' crush on Hawke, how he looked at her with those squinty little eyes as he lamented about mages and how Hawke was the only one who understood him and- Maker knows what else he thought- but Fenris' mind was running away with the possibility of it all and he just wanted to reach into Anders' chest and pluck his heart out and feed it to him or shove it up his backside. Maybe in that order, maybe not.

Anders cleared his throat, not missing the death glares that Fenris was hurling at him with such ferocity, if the elf could use magic, Anders would be nothing but a stain on the ground. He knew that Fenris would still make him a smear on the ground if he could, but that wasn't really the point. He pulled on Varric's arm and told him to get going, handing him the box of now empty lyrium flasks, and the two left. When it was just Hawke and Fenris left in the room, Hawke got up and looked around for her clothes, her shoulder still very stiff and a little sore.

She pulled on her tunic, wincing as she lifted her arms over her head to pull it over, and shimmied into her breeches. She was hurrying as fast as she could go, because she felt the anger rolling off the elf and did not want to spark his ire. She was sure if he lost his _damn mind_ again, she would not survive the encounter. _Andraste's tits, you'd think sleeping with someone would be uncomplicated, but no, you get trapped in the Fade and suddenly he's trying to kill you_, she thought angrily, shoving her feet into her boots and standing, not looking at him at all. As she wrenched the door open, she looked over her shoulder to the elf. "Well. That was...fun," Hawke said, so full of sarcasm it was practically poisonous.

She left, slamming the door behind her.

Angrily she stalked to her own home just across Hightown, muttering under her breath about crazy elves and _just what in the Maker's name did he think he was doing in the Fade anyway? Honestly that is how people get killed_!

In her estate, she went to her own room to lay down and rest. That was the plan, anyway, but she was so full of rage and anger that she couldn't calm down. She kept pacing back and forth, rubbing her should absent-mindedly while she tried to figure out what exactly went wrong.

Perhaps she should have told Fenris about the Tevinter Magisters before she had took her trousers off. That was something she needed to note down for next time. First, expose the plot to kill your potential lover, _then_ take his pants off, not the other way around. Clearly she had taken the Isabela approach, which was "why explain when you can rut instead?" _Maker preserve her_.

She stopped pacing and peered into her looking glass, shifting her tunic to expose her new scar. The skin was puckered around the edges, and tight and shiny. Her fingertips traced along it. It felt tender to the touch, but it was not painful. Considering it had been only hours since her arm was nearly cut off, she thought this was acceptable. What hurt more was knowing that Fenris had attacked her, aiming to kill her, without even a thought about it. Had the Fade caused his emotions to act out of control, or was he far more unstable than she had previously thought? It's not like she herself was any more well adjusted. She enjoyed killing bandits, raiders, Tal-Vasoth, and really anyone who got in her way, and she looked damn good doing it too. All of her friends were psychotic and maladjusted. Why should she be surprised that the man she was attracted to would be any different?

She just didn't know what to do about him. Call it a day and stop trying to be in a relationship, maybe. Just casual sex while they deal with the Imperium Magistrate? No sex at all until they were dead? Hawke groaned, she didn't think she would be able to deal with that. Maybe she would pay a visit to the Blooming Rose later. She probably wouldn't.

She plopped in her chair at her desk. On it was her journal, several letters of correspondence (some of that from the Knight-Commander- she wasn't about to read that) and scraps of parchment that had the Tevinter messages. She looked over it again, with a critical eye. Varric had spent a pretty hefty sum of coin to get it into her hands, and when he had, it turned out it was encrypted. First there was a magical ward that she had barely caught in time, she had assumed that would have burned the message, reducing it to ash. Then there was the actual message itself, which was full of nonsense, symbols and other gobbledygook. She had to find and hire a translator who could help decode the messages, and even then, this so-called expert only managed to extract bits and pieces.

_-The Great Imperial Magisterium, regretfully mourns the loss of Danarius-_

_-aided by a human mage named Marian Hawke, the escaped slave killed-_

_-of considerable value, the elf is now property of the Magisterium-_

_-sending agents to Kirkwall, to infiltrate and recover the Artifact-_

_-without the conduit and the Artifact, the Ritual cannot be completed._

_All Magisters are hereby ordered to reclaim- for the Good of the Imperium-_

There wasn't a whole lot of information to go on, but there was definitely enough to piece together the plan roughly. The Magisters were coming to Kirkwall, and they wanted to kill her, take Fenris, and find something called the Artifact, to complete some sort of ritual. Which would also likely involve blood magic, and possibly Fenris' death. It was not looking good. Varric had people looking out for these agents, and she would have to make sure to remind him to put the spurs to it, since they were running out of time.

She knew that she should get some rest, Maker knows that she was tired, but she was also so hungry. She had eaten once she had returned home, and it felt like she was preparing to hibernate, like a bear, she had ate so much food. Her stomach was full to burst, and now she felt like she was starving once again. Her stomach had not hurt this badly since she had first fled to Kirkwall and Carver and she had little coin enough to spend on food. She decided she would raid the larder, sleep off this bizarre injury, and go meet Varric. She needed to find these agents, maybe interrogate one or twelve, and then figure out what this blasted ritual was all about. If she managed to stay alive in the meantime. Tonight, she would make sure she locked her doors.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading, drop me a line?


	6. Chapter 6

Several days had passed, and Fenris had seen neither hide nor hair of Hawke. She had all but avoided him, and he was both grateful that he did not have to see her, and annoyed that she would not come to see him. He supposed it made sense, given that he had nearly killed her in the Fade, and he had attempted to go to her estate to apologize, even bringing her a nice bottle of wine, but Bodahn had said that Serah Hawke was not receiving visitors of the elven persuasion at the moment. Fenris shoved the bottle of wine into the dwarf's hand, and stomped away angrily.

He needed to find out what was going on with these Magisters. He had kept his eyes open and ear to the ground about any slaver rings in Kirkwall or the surrounding areas, but so far his investigation had rooted out nothing. He tried talking to Varric, but Varric would have none of it, saying that if he wanted to know more, Fenris was going to have to talk to Hawke about it.

"She won't even come to the door!" Fenris said hotly, after another round of debating with the rogue.

Varric frowned, taking a long pull off of his pint. "Can you blame her? You nearly killed her."

Fenris punched the table, so hard that he had splintered the wood. The dwarf was impressed, but said nothing. "You think I don't know that? I am aware, and I do want to make it up to her-"

"How, are you going to bring her another arm? You're lucky Blondie was there to save her, she would have been Tranquil or worse, dead, and who knows what would happen to this cesspool of a city after that."

"Maybe the mage should have gone instead," hissed the elf, spitting angrily. "He wouldn't have harmed Hawke, he would have welcomed her to take a deal with a demon. After all it's worked out so well for _him_-"

"-If you call having a righteous boner for righting every wrong that occurs in Kirkwall, yes, I can say that it worked out great for him, so much corruption he doesn't know where to turn. As for the Fade, well he probably would have killed Hawke too in one of his holier-than-thou fits of rage," The dwarf interrupted. "you know you two aren't really all that dissimilar if you stop and think about it."

Fenris growled, and his hand turned blue, he punched the table again, and this time it split. "I am nothing like him! He is an abomination, everything that is wrong with magic in this world!" he roared, seething in his rage.

"Calm down, elf," Varric said, surprised at the sudden outburst of violence from his friend. The Vints must have him really riled up, he thought. "Would it help if I got Hawke to at least talk to you about what we know about the Imperium's supposed plan?" The elf chewed his lower lip, obviously biting back an angry retort, and after a few moments of silence, relaxed his fist and gestured to the door of the pub. "We go now."

Varric knocked on Hawke's door, and Bodahn answered as usual. "Hawke here?" the rogue smiled and pushed the door open, calling out to his friend. "Hawke? Hey, Hawke! Bring me those letters!"

Bodahn tried to interrupt "Serah Hawke is not receiving-" but Varric waved him away and ignored him. Fenris was unsure of whether or not to step inside past the entrance, but went in and stood near the fireplace. Moments later, Hawke appeared, and in what seemed to be good spirits. She had a sheaf of letters in her hands and she was coming down the stairs, until she noticed Fenris standing in her receiving room with her dwarven friend. Her face grew cold, eyes icy and hard, but she did not falter in her step, and walked over to Varric, thrusting the papers in his outstretched hand.

"Did it just drop a few hundred degrees in here?" The dwarf said nonchalantly. "I swear, you two are something else, why don't you just go get naked and roll around for a bit, that will cool you both off." Snickering to himself he opened the letters, looked them over and rolled his eyes. "This was all that they translated? A blind nug could have done better. I hope that you didn't pay them too much coin, Hawke." He passed the letters to Fenris, who took them and looked them over as well, eyes narrowing in anger.

Hawke said nothing, and just waited for Fenris to finish reading.

"_Maker's balls_," Varric sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fenris, you spent a lot of time with the Imperium Magisters, does any of this make any sense to you?"

"I do not know what this Artifact is, or this Ritual that is mentioned," the elf paused, shifting his weight uncomfortably from leg to leg. "However, it does seem like they aren't too broken up over Danarius' death, only that he had failed to bring me back to Minrathous, and that they planned on exacting their revenge by killing Hawke." He frowned and looked at the original documents. "I never learned to read in the Imperium, not until I came to Kirkwall did I think about it…" He trailed off thinking of the book that Hawke had given as a gift, and her promise to teach him to read. "but there are a few familiar things here. Like this symbol of a dragon. Most of the ancient Imperium worshipped dragons, something they called Old Gods. I don't know much about that." He scanned over the parchment again. "And this one here, with the moon. Something to do with ...power?" He scratched his cheek idly, and handed the documents to Hawke, who took them from the elf with civility, if not grace.

"So we got a bunch of crazy people who want me dead," Hawke said, with a hint of a smile reaching her clear, blue eyes. "And this is different from any other day, how?"

The dwarf chuckled "You just had to become popular in Kirkwall, didn't you?"

"You don't get invited to all the fancy parties if you're not popular," Hawke said. Her eyes flicked over to Fenris, trying to read his expression. It was dark, and brooding. If he could have summoned a thunderstorm on looks alone, it would be monsoon season in her home.

"Varric, find out what you can about these supposed agents. Ask Aveline if there have been any imported goods from the Imperium or any new refugees looking for work in the guard." Varric nodded and bowed, rather sarcastically. "You wish, madam, is my command." The dwarf waved and left, leaving Hawke and Fenris alone, standing by the fireplace.

It was a quiet few moments before either of them said anything, and Hawke was the first to break the silence. "You know, when most couples fight, they don't literally try to kill each other," she teased.

"Marian, I am sorry," Fenris blurted out, obviously he had been waiting to say this for a while now, only just worked up the courage to do so. "I was just so ...afraid that you had turned out to be like all the other mages I have known in my life." He kicked the hearthstones with his foot before continuing on. "You're the only person I have ever been with intimately, and I don't know, it makes things more complicated than it should. I was terrified...of losing you," he finished softly.

"_Andraste's great flaming ass_," Hawke sighed, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. "Fenris, you should have not been in the Fade in the first place. And despite the fact you think I would look sexier with one arm instead of two, you did actually help." She tugged on the end of his silvery locks. "I was stuck in the Fade and you rescued me, you killed the demon, you cut whatever bond was holding me there, and I didn't die of lyrium poisoning."

He nodded slowly, not saying anything. Not trusting himself to say anything. Hawke didn't stop though, she grabbed his hands in hers. "I can still wiggle all my fingers and still can burn things to a crisp. My arm is fine. And yes, I forgive you." She smiled, eyes twinkling in the light of the fire.

Fenris grabbed hold of both of her hands tightly. "I do not deserve it, but I thank you." Hawke snorted, laughing. "You act like I just asked for your hand in marriage, either that or handed you a very smelly sock."

The elf wrinkled his nose. "A sock? What does a sock have to do with this?" He would never understand this woman. Maybe it was a human thing, but he doubted it. It was probably just a Hawke thing.

Hawke laughed and winked. "Don't worry about it, I read it in a book." She planted a kiss on his forehead, right above the bridge of his nose. It helped she was slightly taller than him, she liked to flaunt it too. "Now, just because my arm still works does not mean you are getting off the hook so easily, mister."

"I suppose I will be running your errands now, and washing all of your small-clothes by hand for months at the very least," the elf quipped, the tips of his ears turning pink from her kiss. He knew she would never let him forget what had happened, but Hawke was not without mercy, it seemed.

"Oh no, no touching of the small-clothes. You're on bedpan duty." she laughed devilishly.

Maybe she didn't have much mercy in her after all.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Drop me a line?


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke tapped her foot impatiently as Aveline went over several sheaves of parchment, outlining shipping manifests, lists of refugees, Carta movements, confiscated cargo and contraband, and various other minor crimes. Nothing about a slaver ring, and no one had openly petitioned an audience with Knight-Commander Meredith, either. Hawke suspected that the Knight-Commander would not grant an audience for any mage, especially not those of the Tevinter Imperium.

"As you can see, Hawke, there has been nothing in any of my reports suggesting that there has been any activity from Tevinter," Aveline said matter-of-fact, crossing her arms. "There just isn't any proof that the magisters are coming for you or for Fenris."

The Champion sighed, rubbing her temples. They had been at this for weeks, searching all along the Wounded Coast and obliterating any slaving rings they could find, confiscating shipping manifests, paying off street urchins for information, and nothing was coming out of it. Maybe Aveline was right and this was false information. It didn't feel like those letters Varric intercepted were fake, though. It felt like they were being set up, that this was a trap. Maybe the Vints were being deliberate in covering their tracks. She was so frustrated she could pull her hair out, and she might if she did not get some results soon. She nodded in thanks, and left the Guard-Captain's office, turning so that she did not bump into the guards coming and going from the barracks.

She had better meet up with Varric so that they could put their heads together-again- in hopes that some new information fell out of the sky and into their laps.

Hawke wanted to resolve this as quickly as possible. Fenris was getting angrier and more tense as the days dragged on. If his mansion was any indicator as to his current mood, the roof would collapse and the walls would cave in before the week was out. He rarely said anything to anyone these days, his sour mood rolling off in waves. If he wasn't with Hawke, searching for the Tevinter slavers, he was at home, drinking. Varric and Aveline had strongly suggested that Fenris not put himself in harm's way and to not go out if he wasn't with the group. Even though Aveline could not find any sort of proof, she did not endanger her friends' lives needlessly.

Hawke sat in her usual spot in the Hanged Man, which happened to be Varric's chair when his stocky behind wasn't planted firmly in it. She propped her feet up on the table, called for a pint from Edwina and waited until the dwarf came back. Several pints later and a sour expression settled onto the raven haired woman's face. _Where was that stubborn dwarf?_ she drummed her fingers against her mug, annoyed that of all the times that she had come here to see where Varric was, he was always here. The one time he wasn't, and now Hawke couldn't help but worry for her friend. She had good reason to worry. When she let her Mother out of her sight… She downed the rest of her mug in one gulp, wiping her mouth across her arm and letting out a belch.

Just then, Varric walked in and wrinkled his nose. "Is this what the mighty Champion has been reduced to, a roving drunk?" He walked to his spot and waved, indicating that Marian needed to get up. She replied with a rude gesture of her own, and stayed firmly planted. Well, maybe she was staying slightly wobbly planted. She giggled to herself, cheeks rosy from imbibing so much alcohol.

"Hawke!" The dwarf snapped his fingers in front of her face, getting her attention. The mage stifled her giggles, and the dwarf pulled up another chair. "Tell me you can still wield your staff, because I got a lead."

Hawke busted out laughing. "I want to know, can you wield your weapon effectively?" She leaned over, clearly intent on whispering, but shouting instead, "I mean its been over 6 years since we have met, and not once have I heard of you greasing the old wheel, if you know what I mean," she slurred.

"Snap out of it, Hawke," her friend sighed heavily. _Maker's balls_ they needed to get this over with so Hawke would stop being a drunkard. "My wheels are perfectly greased, thank you very much, now let's go. Grab your angry boyfriend, and meet me at the docks."

Hawke stumbled to her feet, gave a mock salute, and weaved her way out of the pub, with surprising grace, considering she could not see straight. _Did Isabela always have four heaving breasts? Maker no wonder she got bedded so often. _

Any other drunken noble wandering around Lowtown would have been a prime target for thugs and thieves, but most in Lowtown knew of the Champion, and whether or not they owed her their lives from the Qunari invasion, most respected her enough to not rob her blind. Marian wandered through the streets, up to the bridge to Hightown. She tried to remember what it was she was supposed to do. Something about getting Fenris. She had to go get the elf...but then what? It felt important, but she couldn't think straight, all the ale had made her mind fuzzy and her thoughts swirled round and round, making her dizzy as she tried to focus on one. Stumbling up the stairs to the Hightown Estates courtyard, Marian could only think that she needed Fenris for something. _Maker _she should not have had so much ale. She eventually found her way to the elf's mansion and, after spending several moments fumbling for the door, let herself in.

"Fenris!" she called, weaving her way through his estate. "Fenris, it's me." Why the elf insisted on living in near total darkness in this place was beyond her, she thought, wondering briefly if elven eyes could see better in the dark. Maybe she would ask. Is that what she came here for? Asking him about night vision? No, that couldn't be it. Varric said get Fenris, must have been important.

Fenris was sitting in the bath, the only room in his estate where he had poured any sort of coin into restoring. The elf would never admit it to anyone, but he enjoyed taking long, hot baths in the lavish pool that the previous owner of the mansion had installed. The water shimmered faintly from his tattoos, giving off a pleasing light. He closed his eyes and settled in for a long soak. He was just getting comfortable when he heard a loud crashing noise, followed by a muffled yell. _Looters_, the elf thought, _or maybe it was slavers and they had found him at last_. Grudgingly, he got out of his hot bath and wrapped a towel round his waist, and went to investigate.

He poked his head out into the hallway where he was reasonably certain that the noise was coming from, and he saw Marian Hawke, apologizing to a statue that she had bumped into. He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she was doing here, and was she drunk? Not wanting to miss an opportunity to tease her for this later, he leaned against the door frame and watched.

"Excuse me, I did not see you there, Lady Reinhardt," Hawke apologized enthusiastically, and Fenris stifled a laugh. Now that he thought about it, that ugly Tevinter statue did bear some resemblance to the head of the Reinhardt estate."If you could kindly give my regards to your daughter, that was a lovely potted plant she had sent to me." Hawke waved cheerfully and turned, promptly bumping into something else.

Fenris couldn't help but smile, watching Hawke hum and weave her way through the semi-darkness, occasionally cursing under her breath as she bumped into something, muttering apologies. She was a happy drunk, which certainly made for entertaining stories later. She never remembered what happened when she had a few too many, and the rest of the group liked to tease her, coming up with more outrageous situations to see if she would believe them.

Marian caught sight of the elf, standing there leaning against his doorway. "Fenris! Where have you been? I was looking all over for you," she said, walking up to him and giving him a hug. "Naughty little wolf! Why are you all wet?" Her eyes hungrily looked him up and down. "And naked?"

Fenris shrugged. "I was in the bath," keenly aware that Hawke was looking at him with lust in her eyes. He didn't really have anything else to do to pass the time, so might as well enjoy a bath. "Oh, do you need someone to help you...wash?" Hawke purred, wrapping her arms round his waist and began kissing his neck.

The elf inhaled sharply. The feeling of her lips against his neck, her tongue slithering along the curve drove him wild. Her tongue working along his jaw, up to his earlobe. She nibbled on it, and a soft groan escaped his lips, despite his efforts to hold it in. She took that as encouragement and kept nibbling, suckling, while her hands traveled roughly over his naked flesh. Fingertips grazed his nipples, feeling them stiffen under her touch, Marian tweaked and pinched them lightly. Her ale-fogged mind was suddenly sharper, clearer, consumed only with her need of her lithe lover. She stopped nipping at his earlobe and gave him a passionate kiss, her tongue forcefully pushing past the seam of his lips. He yielded instantly, welcoming her slithering tongue entangling with his. He closed his eyes, moaning out in pleasure as she worked her hands all over his body. She knew right where to touch to drive him wild, and she was not being gentle. _Maker_, he did not want her to be gentle. She had come on so strongly that it had startled him at first, surprised at how badly he had needed her as well, his cock twitching beneath his towel.

Hawke broke the kiss, her electric blue eyes hungrily devouring his face, enthralled by the look of pleasure. His cheeks were flushed, the lyrium brands on his skin were slightly glowing, his dark eyebrows knitted together, silvery wisps of hair covering his eyes. He was chewing on his lip, that _delicious_, fleshy lip. Hawke had to have it in her mouth. She captured it greedily, sucking and nibbling on it, pulling it into her mouth.

It was too much for Fenris. He had to have her, _now_. All he had to do was get her out of that pesky armor, get her naked, drag her to his bed or better yet, the bath. He groaned at the thought of her in the hot, steamy water, her magnificent breasts wet and shiny, as she sat atop him. His hips bucked in response, and the towel fell away, dropping to the hard floor with a soft thump. His cock was pressed against her breeches, fine leather breeches, soft and supple, much like her skin, and it drove him mad with want. Creamy pale skin, her human legs that went on for _ages_, he loved to get his hands on her legs, spend hours teasing them with his kisses and licks, working his way up to her center- where a nest of dark curls covered her mound awaited to be parted, revealing a little rosebud, so eager for attention. He bucked again, hips rolling as his hands held her sides. Breathless already, thinking of her moist, tight heat wrapped on his cock-

Marian felt his manhood pressing against her thighs, begging for attention. She was all too happy to oblige, but not at this moment. She worked her way down his chest, tongue tracing his markings, feeling the thrum of magic mirroring her own pulse, the blood rushing through her body. He was intoxicating, more so than the ale, and she felt her own magic awaken to it. Her body was tingling with electricity, her mouth hot, fingers frosty, and she loved it. Laving along his taut stomach, dipping her tongue into the dimple that was his navel, she worked ever lower, teasing, taunting. His hands tangled themselves in her dark hair, hips bucking, knees growing weak. He wanted her to hurry up and wrap her mouth round his aching prick, but at the same time he wanted her to slow down, she was rushing and he knew he would soon come if she kept going.

"Hawke," the elf croaked, licking his lips, his mouth impossibly dry, tongue thick and heavy. Her frosty fingers were torturous, tickling and pleasing at the same time, her hot lips and tongue burning his skin- he wondered momentarily if she were leaving marks all over him- but he didn't care, couldn't bring himself to ask her to stop. He wanted to beg her to take his length in her mouth, to feel those soft lips along his throbbing shaft. "Hawke," he moaned out, words failing him.

She understood though, could feel what he was wanting, begging for, the way his body twitched and shuddered at every touch of hers, she knew that he needed release. He would not, could not, ask for it though, she had to be the one to give it to him, to put him out of his misery. She reveled in the power that gave her, knowing he was weak in the knees, practically a puddle under her touch. She grasped his thickness in her hand, tightly holding it as she breathed hot air against his swollen head, noting the beads of precum oozing from it. She loved how he looked right now, against the wall, green eyes misted over with lust looking down at her. His mostly hairless body still glistening from his bath, water droplets slowly dripping off of him. He had a small patch of man fur right around his cock, dark like his eyebrows and she loved to run her fingers through it. Human men were much hairier by comparison, covering their chests and arms, stomachs. Fenris was naked, his muscles unobstructed, she could see every hard line. Naked, except for the little patch of fur ringing his throbbing shaft. Perfection, she thought, and wrapped her lips on his swollen head, tongue lapping the sticky juices slowly.

An undignified, gutteral groan escaped the elf's lips. _Maker_ but she was good at this. He had wondered briefly, where she had learned such tactics, but thought better against asking. He knew she would not say anything, just a little smile and a wink. There wasn't much room in his mind for such thoughts anyway, as she worked her hand up and down his shaft, bobbing her head in time, picking up the pace. He shuddered, his whole body felt like jelly, except for the intense heat centered on his groin, spreading through his limbs like fire, he pulled at her hair, felt his body thrumming with magic as his markings beat out a tune that he could not hear, but feel in every fiber of his being, he could feel Hawke's magic too, the two becoming entwined, inseparable, melding together to create a perfect melody-

"Shit," came Hawke's voice, somewhere below him. "I forgot." The magic faded, the feeling returned to Fenris's body, limbs feeling leaden. A sinking feeling in his stomach, he knew that the moment had passed. Begrudgingly, he asked what it was she had forgotten, hoping against hope it was something silly, like scented oils, but he knew it was in vain.

"We're supposed to go to the docks with Varric," the mage shrugged, apologetically, from her position on her knees, staring up at him. He sighed, and helped her up, grabbing her arms and pulling her into a hug. He kissed her chin thoughtfully. "Well, we can always continue this later," he sighed, half-hopeful that Varric didn't really have a lead, yet he wanted to get this whole mess out of the way. Maybe when it was all said and done with, the Tevinters taken care of, he would be able to relax with Hawke and ravish her senseless like he was planning on doing this evening.

"Get dressed. Varric said to meet him there right away, and I am afraid that I lost track of time," she said with a wink. She seemed to know what the elf was thinking, because she gave him a kiss, one that held promise of good things to come later. Fenris nodded, toweled off and went to pull on his armor. As he grabbed his axe, he wondered just what it was the dwarf had found. He was sure it wasn't as interesting as a naked human woman tumbling in his sheets, however.

Willing his erection to go down, he followed the Champion out of his mansion, and towards the docks. He kept looking at her wonderful ass, the round curve of it hugged by her leather breeches, and he found himself irrationally jealous of the fabric.

Hawke looked around, found Varric and Anders, and waved as she went to join them. Fenris stiffened. Of course Anders was here, it seemed anywhere that the Champion went, the abomination had to follow her like a Mabari. Whether or not Hawke knew that Anders pined for her made him even angrier, he wondered why she even let _that thing_ follow them around instead of putting him to the sword. He would gladly do the deed, but Hawke had insisted that he was mostly harmless so he begrudgingly did as he was told. The dwarf waved back, raising an eyebrow and calling out to the pair as they approached. "Took you long enough, Blondie and I had to hold down the docks." Anders shifted uncomfortably and stared out to the sea, deliberately not looking at Hawke or Fenris. The healer never forgave Fenris for his attack on Hawke in the Fade and seeing the two of them together after all of that just incited his rage. He had precious little control over Justice as it was these days and didn't need another excuse for the spirit to take over and cause a scene.

"You never said what we were waiting for, Varric," Hawke said, as the dwarf rolled his shoulders and pulled a deck of cards from his leather duster. "Gather round, and look like we are just playing a round of cards," the rogue said, dealing out a hand to the mages and himself. "Broody, you in?" he flashed his best smile at the elf, but Fenris shook his head. "No, I will keep watch." The dwarf shrugged and looked at his hand.

"I found some information about our friends visiting this port," he said nonchalantly as he drew another card. Hawke peered over her own hand and flicked a copper into a pile in the center. "I see, and what information was that?"

"Apparently, they were moving large amounts of cargo, and the harbor master didn't like it, so it's been confiscated, in that warehouse over there." He said, jerking his head in the direction of the storehouse. "Now what that cargo is, is anyone's guess, but I bet that it has something to do with Broody and this ritual they kept talking about."

"Let's just get this over with," Anders said, pulling another card from the deck, and looking at his hand with a mixture of puzzlement and defeat. "There are too many templars wondering the docks at night, and we need to get out of sight."

Fenris snorted, from his post, leaning against a stack of crates. He was not scared of the templars but he did agree that they needed to get going. _What were they waiting for?_

"Don't look now," Varric said, tossing another coin on the pile and inviting Hawke to do the same. "But there is our man." A guard opened the door to the warehouse, looking around as nonchalantly as he could manage, and flipped a coin into the air, catching it deftly with his hand, before walking away.

This guard was obviously in Varric's employ, meaning he was probably not a guard at all, but simply a spy the rogue had placed inside the warehouse earlier in the day once he caught wind of something brewing.

The group folded their cards, cursing in mock defeat as Varric scooped up all the coins and put them into a small coin purse. He tied it, and slipped it in his coat pocket as they stood up and walked over to the warehouse. As they passed the "guard," Fenris heard the clink of coins and knew that Varric had handed over the pouch as payment for services rendered. Sticking to the shadows, the group approached the door, the rogue in the lead. He pressed his ear to the door, listening, and satisfied, he nodded and pulled it open.

They stepped inside, darkness washing over them, the door closed behind, shutting out the sounds and smell of the sea. Fenris was glad, he did not particularly like the smell of the docks, all that fish made his nose wrinkle and the smell gave him a headache. Inside the warehouse wasn't much better, and he knew that he could see in the dark better than his companions, save maybe the dwarf. There were boxes and crates everywhere, stacked from the floor to the ceiling. How they were going to find what they were looking for in this cargo jungle was a mystery, further complicated by the fact none of them knew what they were looking for.

Varric motioned for them to follow along, his light steps belying his stout stature. He crept to the first of the boxes and rummaged around inside, pulling out useless things like silks and furs. Shaking his head, he moved along.

Hawke busied herself with the next door, opening it slowly so that it didn't creak. She peered inside and saw that several men were inside, standing on guard. These men looked armed to the teeth, and were the sort that struck first, and never asked questions. She motioned to the others, and the dwarf mumbled under his breath. "Great, a welcoming party," he whispered, and pulled out Bianca.

Fenris cracked his neck and shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back. He was itching to fight someone, and knowing that there were likely slavers in the next room had his adrenaline pumping. He hoisted up his axe, ready to fight. Hawke motioned for him to relax, but he saw that she gripped her staff tightly, her fingers already growing icy as she summoned her magic. Anders hung back, already inscribing sigils on the ground, of speed and accuracy, strength and agility. Hawke flung the door open and in one fell swoop, swirled her staff in the air, sending forth a wave of cold, capturing several of the guards in her icy grip. Varric loosed three bolts in quick succession, pinning a few more in place by their boots.

"Attack! We're under attack!" came the cries from the startled men, and Fenris smiled. He loved it when they ran, when they scrambled to get away from him. He loved the feeling of his axe biting into their flesh, feeling it sink in. He relished clutching their hearts in his hand as his fist phased through their rib cage, crushing it and pulling it out in one fell swoop. The hunt was on, and the wolf was hungry.

Anders loosed spell he held at the ready, a glyph of paralysis, capturing a guard; Varric shot off a few more bolts while he hummed a special song under his breath; Hawke set another on fire, cackling loudly as he screamed and begged for mercy.

Fenris could wait no longer, he leaped into the fray, axe above his head, screaming a battle cry. He had his first target in sight, a man who brandished a sword and cowered behind a shield, clearly caught off guard by the sudden attack. The axe met the shield, clanging, puncturing the metal. Fenris felt the arm behind the shield crumple, wrist broken from the full force of his swing; he pulled the axe back, hefting it easily as he swung again, busting through the shield and biting into the armor of the man beneath. The guard howled in pain and rage, swinging blindly with the sword. Fenris activated his lyrium, protecting him from the worst of the damage, shrugging off the rest through sheer force of will. He swung again, this time the axe came splitting down on the man's head, and the guard crumpled to the floor, dead. Fenris was sprayed with hot blood, felt it dripping off of his face and hands. He wrenched his axe free, wiped his face on his shoulder, and looked for his next victim.

Anders was busy sending healing spells to both Hawke and Fenris, casting barriers to help absorb and deflect damage, and Varric rained down bolts from a vantage point he had located. He kept calling out numbers, and Hawke kept answering, the two keeping their usual tally. It disturbed the healer how much the other three seemed to enjoy killing, but he knew that part of him enjoyed it as well, he could feel his grip on Justice loosening, the spirit sensing corruption and craving release to rectify the situation. He tried to maintain focus, sending more healing energy to the elf, to Hawke, to Varric, but it was a losing battle, he knew. His vision blurred as the spirit took over, everything washed in blue electricity. He felt that he was losing himself, and Justice was surfacing, a force of vengeance erupting.

"Blondie let the baddie loose," Varric smirked, "You Vints have it in for you now!" He shot another bolt and kissed Bianca on the hilt. "Bianca is a bit jealous she has to share now!"

"Shit," cursed Hawke, stabbing a guard with the blade on the end of her staff. He slumped over and she kicked him. "Anders! Anders, get a hold of yourself!"

"It's too late," Fenris said, nonchalantly jamming his fist into the chest of another guard. "The demon is in control."

"He's not a demon-" Hawke interjected, but was cut off as Anders roared, unleashing a massive wave of magical energy, stunning all the remaining guards, knocking them off of their feet. "You will all feel Justice's burn!" He slammed his staff into the ground and bolts of electricity shot down, killing all the guards.

"Well, that was certainly effective," Varric said, putting Bianca away. "Oh nugshit, I got blood on my coat!"

Hawke leaned over the nearest guard, checking for a pulse. He was dead. She hated having to go through all of the bodies and checking, but they needed to be sure that no one got up and walked away from this. She searched his pockets and found nothing of interest, save a few coppers, which she pocketed. "Anders, you can calm down now," she said as she looked over the next guard, relieving him of his coin purse as well. Whatever the Tevinter Imperium paid its guardsmen, it was horrible. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of burnt and acrid flesh filled the warehouse air.

Anders did not calm down, and he did not regain control of the spirit of Justice inside of him. Instead, he wheeled about, turning toward Fenris, raising his staff. "And you! You will feel the pain of all you have caused, for attacking the one who loved you out of fear and spite-"

Fenris raised his axe. He wasn't going to stand for this. Better to behead the mage and be done with it than risk..._hang on, did the mage say he attacked the one who_ loved _him? _He lowered his weapon slightly, not sure what to believe.

Hawke hurried over and grabbed Anders by the shoulders. "Anders! Anders, it's over. Hush… it's over." The glow faded from the healer's eyes, the staff lowered, and the mage slumped against Hawke for a moment, before shaking his head and rubbing his eyes. "Maker's breath," he coughed. "Hawke, did I…?"

"Tell the elf that Hawke loved him? Yes. Hurt anyone important? No." The dwarf interrupted, after wiping the blood off of his coat and looking around.

"Oh," Anders said solemnly. "That's good that I didn't hurt anyone- I thought for sure Justice was going to kill Fenris."

Fenris stood there dumbfounded, wondering how on earth the other two could just ignore the mage's obvious threat. He had been about to attack Fenris, and Hawke and Varric were just standing there not doing anything. He put his axe away, strapping it to his back, not taking his eyes off of the blonde healer. Had the abomination spoken the truth, or was it twisting his own feelings, trying to convince him to do its bidding? Did Hawke really love him? Was it even possible-

"Yes, well," Hawke cleared her throat, an obvious blush rising in her cheeks. "We really need to be looking for the cargo." She scoured the mess before her. "Maker, they had a lot of blood." She picked her way through the corpses, spying a guard who looked like he was a captain, given that his armor was slightly different from the rest, and checked his pockets. She pulled a crumpled note with orders written on it. It had the usual, be vigilant, do not let anyone near the goods, etc, but one part stuck out to her. The artifact. She scanned the note again, looking for more details.

_We need this cargo to remain undamaged to secure the artifact located below Kirkwall. The city guard must not be tipped off to our presence. Failure to follow your orders will result in the forfeiture of your lives, as is required by Imperium law. You will be notified once your duties are complete. _

_Magister Thalison_

"Well, that is certainly a start in the right direction," Hawke said, as she clucked her tongue. An artifact, below Kirkwall? She knew that the city had once been part of the Tevinter Imperium, several hundred years ago. The Gallows was where they had housed all their slaves, and its walls and floors were steeped in as much blood as there was history. And who was this Magister Thalison, that the note mentioned?

"Fenris, do you know a Magister Thalison?" she inquired, rereading the note to make sure that she had gotten all the relevant information from it. When the elf didn't answer she looked over at him. "Fenris?"

Fenris didn't answer, couldn't answer. _Not Thalison. Maker's breath, please tell me she did not just say Magister Thalison._ His body tensed up, and his mind was flooded with memories of his time spent in Danarius's grasp. How Danarius would throw parties, the magisters would all gather and they would perform blood rituals, killing innocent slaves to fuel their dark magics. How Thalison leered at Fenris and forced him to watch, saying that if he had his way, the elf would be drenched in blood, as he did all sorts of lewd and disgusting things to him, how every time that he was at Danarius's mansion, he would touch the elf, leaving a sickening feeling in his stomach. He knew that Danarius was not a kind man, and that he cared nothing for his slaves, but he could not help but be thankful at those times it was Danarius who was his Master and not Thalison. Thalison, who was known far and wide for his greed and lust with his slaves, how he would have his way with them, torture and break them, and ultimately kill them. The magister got off on it all. _Not Thalison. Please, Maker, not Thalison…_

"Fenris?" Hawke noticed the elf was looking around, panicked, like he was about to run. "Fenris, what's wrong?"

"Easy there, Fenris," Varric said, stretching his hands out in front of him, the way one might approach a wounded animal. "No one here is going to hurt you." Hawke exchanged a glance with the other two, Anders's mouth grim and taut. He knew the look of panic on the elf's face. A lot of mages wore the same expression after being roughly handled by a Templar, after being forced to sate their sexual appetites. "Varric, I don't think that is wise," the healer said, grabbing the dwarf's shoulder gently. "I think that we should perhaps leave, and come back another time."

"We need to find this cargo, to find out what this magister is on about," said Varric, keeping one eye on Fenris in case he bolted, or worse, attacked one of them. He looked to be on edge, like he was about to lose it and go crazy. He knew the mage was right, though, and thought it was best the elf was removed from the warehouse.

"I-I'm fine," Fenris said shakily, after several moments and deep breaths. "Thalison was...is… a crazy man, a magister who delights in the torment of others, perhaps too much. He was a covetous man," the elf broke off, averting his gaze from looking at anyone, staring at his feet, instead. "Often, he told me how much he wanted me for himself, not to be his bodyguard as I was for Danarius, but rather a plaything, and I knew he meant to kill for it." He shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant, but it fooled no one. "I am just surprised that he did not kill Danarius sooner."

Hawke put an arm around Fenris' waist, giving him a tight squeeze. "We will find this man, and we will put an end to him," she said and there was a finality in her voice that Fenris believed. If anyone could take on the corrupt magister, it would be Hawke.

"It seems those with power will always abuse those under them," Anders said, his voice full of sorrow. He knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of negative attention, and how that changed a person. It was a small wonder that Fenris would allow anyone to be close to him after enduring such hardships. The mage found it difficult to hate the elf in general, only when he was specifically being very stubborn or stupid, but he felt that this was common ground they could share. Not that he would ever mention it to the elf, since that would require talking to him, and the elf would have to listen. No, he would just acknowledge that he understood how it felt, and then say nothing. Perhaps he would mention it to Hawke, and let her decide whether or not to tell Fenris.

"Right," Varric said, pulling up his breeches. "Let's find this precious cargo and be done with this."

They searched for over an hour, looking in the various crates, but finding nothing of real interest until Fenris opened one crate. As soon as he laid eyes on it, he knew that it was what they were searching for. He could almost smell Tevinter on that crate, the air, the earth, the _magic_ of the land seeped into the very grain of the wood. It held an aura of forbidden and dark things, and he pulled the lid off, and confirmed, yes it was just what they were looking for. The crate was filled with glass bottles, philters, and casks. Each one of them held a dark, crimson liquid. Blood. He felt sick to his stomach, knowing that this was the blood of slaves and the poor, and it was bottled and shipped like it was wine. He hesitated, hand hovered over a small glass philter. Hawke came up next to him, grabbed his hand and whispered, "Don't. It's spelled." She pointed it out to him, a faint glyph, etched into the glass, and it shimmered ever faintly in the small bobble of light the dark haired woman held in her hand.

"It looks like it's for some sort of ritual," Hawke said, her mouth a grim slash, eyebrows knitted together, contemplating." Her fingers weaved a sign, one of dispelling and unlocking, and sparks flew from her fingertips and enveloped the bottle. It chimed and shimmered, then settled. Fenris wasn't sure what that meant, but Hawke, apparently satisfied, grabbed the bottle and inspected it in her hand, turning it in the light from her other hand. Anders came over to inspect it as well, and Varric rummaged through more crates, calling to the others there were more bottles. "I'm no expert on magical weird shit," he said, "but this looks like a lot of blood."

Anders studied the bottle and took it from Hawke. "There are dark tales of things below the walls of the city, things that would only open or answer to blood," the healer whispered, his eyes glittering with Hawke's light wisp, reflecting hints of crimson. "I am certain that this is part of it, for it to be so heavily spelled and for travel meant that these victims… they were prepared in some way."

Hawke bit her lip. She was not keen on hunting down more blood mages, it seemed they were everywhere in Kirkwall lately, and the most gruesome of their crimes ranged from summoning demons to reanimating the dead, and she was victim to the latter as a deranged blood mage had killed her own mother. It seemed no matter where Hawke went, she was to be drowned in a sea of red, blood threatening to overpower her and drag her into the depths.

"I suppose we need to figure out where all of this is going," she sighed heavily. She thought that they were finally getting somewhere, now they needed to find something under Kirkwall, hidden away, but not so hidden that mages in Tevinter had heard of it?

Fenris had sat down on the dirty floor, dragging his knees under his chin, looking at the crates. It seemed no matter how far he had gone, magic was doomed to follow him and to dog his every step. What made this all worse, as if it could possibly be any worse than finding crates full of blood in a warehouse, was knowing that all the slaves and refugees that were slain for this purpose… was because of him. Because Thalison wanted Fenris, wanted him badly enough that he would travel to Kirkwall, to seek out some hidden artifact, drown him in blood, drown them all in blood. He didn't notice that he was shivering until Hawke came up to him and put her hand on his shoulder, grabbing him under the arm, gently pulling him to his feet, whispering soft words in his ears, muffled words that he couldn't hear, but he knew they were soothing nonetheless. She cupped his face in her hands, her face sympathetic and sad, and tugged him along, as they left the warehouse.

Outside, the stench of the sea air assaulted his senses. Fish, everywhere, fish! It set his teeth on edge, made him feel unclean. Why anyone would want to eat fish was beyond him. He just wanted to go home, to curl up in his bed, fall asleep and forget this whole nonsense. But he knew sleep would not come for him tonight. Instead, worry and fear would be his companions, each whispering dark and sinister plots in his ears, Hawke's hand pressed against the small of his back, reassuringly, but she looked out in the dark night of the docks, blue eyes searching for more trouble. When none came, she shook her head in disbelief, and turned to the rogue.

"Varric, any idea on what sort of artifact might be hidden in Kirkwall?"

"I don't know anything about any weird shit going on in Kirkwall," the rogue rubbed his chin, leather gloved fingers scratching against his stubble. "Might want to check Darktown, or ask around in the Gallows."

"We can't go to the Gallows," Anders said. "We would be far to conspicuous there, we don't want to draw the Knight-Commander's attention."

"Do you think this might actually be a good cause for Meredith to hunt out?" Hawke said, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "Maybe give her a genuine reason to hunt out blood magic?"

Anders shook his head. "I doubt that the magister is even in Kirkwall, and if he was, it's likely she would not be able to touch him."

"You really think she cares about politics?" Varric said.

"She hasn't taken Hawke to the Gallows, or made her Tranquil. You think she doesn't know that Hawke is a mage?" The healer said hotly.

"Let's all shout it a little louder," Hawke grumbled.

The group all headed towards Lowtown, to the Hanged Man, where they had planned on going over what they had found, when Hawke clicked her tongue, an idea sparking in her mind.

" We really shouldn't leave all that cargo, you know. It would be a _shame_ if someone got their hands on it." She opened the door, and cast a fireball, instantly setting everything ablaze, bright flames licking and biting into the wooden boxes. When the fire reached the spelled bottles, they fractured and cracked, exploding, whizzing through the air much like fireworks. Hawke chortled, taking obvious delight in such destruction, and closed the door calmly, as though there was no fire threatening to overtake the entire district.

"Was that really necessary?" Varric said, eying the thick columns of black smoke rising into the air, to be taken out to sea by the breeze. He wondered how long until everyone else noticed there was a fire on the docks.

"Yes," Anders and Hawke said together, and even Fenris nodded reluctantly behind them. As much as he hated it when Hawke used magic, he had to agree that burning it and destroying it would put a damper on Thalison's plans, and perhaps they would stop him before he could gather more blood.

Thalison would stop at nothing to get what he wanted, and Fenris felt afraid at that notion.

The group made their way back to the Hanged Man, and Varric ordered drinks, insisting that everyone be put on his tab, and they all sat at the table he had in his suite. Anders pushed his mug of ale away, mumbling something about how Justice didn't like it when he drank, and Hawke took it for herself, her own mug already empty. Varric took a long pull on his own, and Fenris sat with his hands under his thighs, looking at the grain on the wood table. It was terrible quality, he thought, looking at the pits and the cracks, it had more than a few knots in it as well. Why the dwarf liked to hang out in this pisshole was anyone's guess.

"Fenris, can you tell me about Thalison?" Hawke said after downing Anders's mug, wiping the froth off of her lip with the back of her hand. Fenris curled his lip in disdain. _For such a beautiful woman she was crass at times._ He huffed out of his nose, shifting his weight in his seat, obviously not wanting to begin. "Please." Hawke said simply, looking at him with her compassionate eyes. He found himself unwilling to disappoint her, no matter how ...unpleasant the topic of Thalison was.

"In the Imperium, there is the Magisterium," he began slowly. "The real seat of power. The Archon is the head of the Magisterium, and various other magisters as well. The more powerful a magister is, the more influence he has in shaping the laws." He stopped, clearing his throat, willing himself to go on. "Danarius was a powerful mage. He had few rivals who could openly challenge his position. Thalison was one such mage. A twisted, ugly man. He delighted in torturing and abusing his slaves and servants, and he made no secret of using blood magic to his advantage. He had some rather extensive… research on the subject." Fenris shrugged, attempting to banish the mental image of the magister leering at him as he had poured him a glass of Danarius' best wine, the croaking voice at his ear.

He went on. "As you know, blood magic is common in the Imperium, though officially it is still forbidden, but behind closed doors, it is another matter. All powerful mages practice it, and often hold parties to partake in rituals to increase their standing in the magisterium. Thalison loved to host such parties. He had several dungeons in which he would sate his depraved appetite, often abusing his servants and slaves sexually, exploiting his power over them. He wrote it all down, of course, so that it was research," he sneered. "He was always covetous of Danarius's position and favor with the Archon, so he took every opportunity he could to torment me. Telling me how once he killed Danarius, I would be his, and I would be powerless to stop him."

Hawke clucked her tongue disapprovingly, and Anders was practically glowing with quiet rage. Varric finished off his mug of ale. "Well, that sounds...pleasant." the rogue said, casting a worried look at Fenris.

"Did he touch you?" Anders piped up, unable to suppress his anger any longer. His hands were glowing blue, dark brown eyes glinting dangerously.

"Many times," Fenris said, solemnly. He had never told anyone, and while he was honest when he had told Hawke that he had never been with anyone intimately, he did not mention that he had suffered unwanted advances.

"That pisses me off," Anders grumbled, fighting to regain control over the spirit inside of him. "The templars used to do the same thing. Take small, meek mages and...and rape them, force them to do terrible things-or threaten to make them Tranquil-" Hawke cut Anders off, patting him on the hand. Her touch did much to calm the mage, and he settled quietly, his jaw tight as he chewed on his lower lip, holding his tongue.

"He never raped me," Fenris said quickly, almost tripping over his own tongue in an effort to get the words out. "Groped me every chance he could get, would tell me what he wanted to do to me, in horrifyingly graphic detail, but he never went through with it. Danarius never let me out of his sight, but he did not stop Thalison from harassing me. Probably to make me grateful at what a kind master he was in comparison," sneered the elf. "And I was, in that regard. I would not have wanted a master such as Thalison. He was dark and twisted, sought out demons to control and conquer them, bind them to do his bidding. He went through more slaves in a week than Danarius went through in a year."

Now that Danarius was dead, Fenris fully understood the danger he was in. In his quest to kill his former master, he had completely forgotten about Thalison and the magister's promise-threat- that he would find the elf and claim him for his own, and Fenris, despite his freedom and being with his powerful friends, might not be able to stop that from happening.

A/N: Maker's balls that was a long chapter. Drop me a line, yeah? Next one has more humor in it. I promise.


	8. Chapter 8

Fenris was back at his mansion, pacing around his bedroom. He rubbed his temples, trying to convince himself to calm down. He had been doing this for hours, it was dawn now, light creeping in through the dusty windows in his room, dust caught in the beams, dancing lazily. He kept trying to lay down, to let sleep claim him, but every time he relaxed he found that he couldn't, suddenly he was gasping for breath, dizzy. His vision blurred and turned hazy, fading to black, and there was a tightness in his chest, like Hawke's mabari was sitting on it, and he could not catch his breath no matter how deeply he inhaled. A sick, queasy feeling settled in his stomach and he felt like he was going to vomit. He spent several minutes with his head between his knees, arms clasped together, trying not to regurgitate his meager dinner. He had insisted on going home, leaving the Hanged Man well before the others were ready. Hawke had offered to walk him home, concerned for him, but he had shrugged her off in his pride and angst. He wished he hadn't now, thinking of how she could always calm him down when he got like this.

He had even gone so far as to insult her, telling her that he didn't need her protection, just because she was the Champion didn't mean that she had to look after him like he was a sheep in her flock. Hawke had retorted that he would be the surliest sheep, and therefore the one she would butcher for meat, and turned on her heel and marched back into the pub without a backward glance. Instantly he had regretted letting his emotions get the best of him, and was tempted to go back in, to apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to do it, so he just stalked home angrily instead.

He wondered if she was home now, safe and sound in her large bed, snoring lightly. He thought of her curled against him under her soft sheets and he longed to be there, arms wrapped round her waist, pulling her into him, her firm backside pressed against his groin. Even sleeping, she had a way of calming him down, and he missed the soft heat of her body against his, the scent of her air filling his nostrils, nuzzling into her neck. He groaned, tired of being awake. Rubbing his eyes he shuffled into the kitchen, pulling up a broken chair and staring moodily at the table. He found that he was not any more comfortable sitting down than he was pacing, and soon he was back to wearing a rut in the floor, turning and pacing, chewing on his nails.

Perhaps he should just go over there, he thought. She probably wouldn't let him in, he reasoned. He wouldn't let himself in after what he had said, so there was a good chance Hawke would turn him away at the door. He considered bringing a gift, but none of the market stalls were open this early, and the only thing he had to give was wine. It seemed that was all he ever had. He wondered for a moment if this made him an alcoholic, then shrugged the thought off as he pulled on his leggings and grabbed a bottle of the most expensive wine he owned.

The silver haired elf left his estate and stalked across Hightown, long, agile strides taking him to Hawke's door in a matter of moments. He hesitated, then tried the door. It was unlocked. Typical. Of all the cut purses and thieves that hunted the noble estates at night, and Hawke leaves her door open, practically daring them to come in and rob her. She was the Champion, however, so if anyone tried to rob her, they deserved what fate they got. Which was probably something to do with fire, knowing Marian. He did have a terrible, fleeting thought as he pushed the door open. _What if she was attacked?_

He needn't have worried, however, as soon as the door was open, Marian's mabari, whom she affectionatley referred to as "Dog," bounded up to him, tail nub wagging enthusiastically.

"Hello, friend," the elf said to the dog, holding out his hand for the mabari to sniff it. "Is Marian here?"

The dog wagged his stump, suggesting that the raven haired woman was indeed here. "Is she mad at me?" Fenris asked, quietly. feeling silly for talking to the hound, but knew he could at least trust the animal to be honest. Dog growled, a low rumble from his chest, affirming that his master was indeed cross with the elf. "I brought her a present," Fenris said, still unsure if he should go inside. Dog wrinkled his nose, baring his teeth in obvious distaste. "It isn't any good? This is expensive!" Fenris couldn't believe he was arguing wine with a mabari."What do you suggest, then?" The dog hopped up on the elf, placing two heavy paws on his chest and licked him across his face, leaving trails of slobber.

"Really, that is absolutely disgusting. If I licked her across the face like that, she would throw me out of the house and set me on fire!" he said as he wiped his face, indignantly, the dog prancing around him, affectionately nipping at his heels. "That hurts you know!" the elf hissed, green eyes flashing dangerously. The dog dipped low in a playful position, wagging his stumpy tail harder, and ran outside, back into Hightown. "Wait!" Fenris called after the mutt, dashing outside and trying to call him back, but the dog wasn't listening. He kept running ahead, goading Fenris into chasing him. The elf cursed and followed him. If that damn dog got lost or injured because he snuck into Hawke's mansion, he would never hear the end of it. The mabari seemed to be having the time of his life, dancing around and lunging just out of Fenris's reach, the elf becoming more prickly as the dog side stepped him again and again. "All right! I give up!" he cried and stubbornly sat down on the hard cobblestones, crossing his legs and his arms, angry scowl playing across his otherwise handsome face. Dog barked cheerfully, still dancing about.

"What do you want, _hound_?" the elf pouted, careful not to actually insult the proud creature, for he knew it was the last thing that he would do if he did. Dog walked up to him, nudging him with his great boulder of a head, pushing the elf over with the force, whining gently, urging him to stand. Dog pulled at his armor, nipping it gently between his great jaws, teeth not tearing into his leather glove, but enough firm pressure to indicate to the silver haired elf that he needed to follow. Sighing heavily, Fenris resigned himself to following the dog. Obviously the hound had something in mind. Dog pranced about, sniffing the cobblestone, racing off ahead and then turning around, waiting for the elf to follow. They were in the chantry courtyard now and the hound was sniffing the rosebush near the chanter's board, pawing at the blooms. "You dragged me out here… for this? To smell _roses_?" Fenris said dubiously. _Of all the stupid things_\- the elf scowled, as Dog stuck his big head in the rose bush, completely ignoring the thorns, and pulling out a big, red rose, barely blooming, and dropped it at Fenris' feet.

"Why would I want this?" Fenris said, nudging the slobbery flower with his toe. Dog barked conversationally, as if the elf could understand him. "A better present than wine! Now you are mocking me!" he sighed, exasperated at the hound dancing around him. "Fine, have it your way!" He snatched the flower off the ground, wincing as a thorn bit into his hand, and stalked back to Hawke's mansion, the mabari at his heels and looking disgustingly smug about it all.

Hawke was waiting in her foyer with her arms crossed when Fenris and Dog returned. "_And where did you get off to?_" the mage rounded on the hound, seething. "Do you honestly think I didn't hear all that ruckus, of you barking and running around! Then I come out and see that you left the door wide open! How you even managed, I'll never know-" she faltered, catching sight of Fenris. "And you, what are you doing here?" she said, coolly, or almost coolly, tripping over her words a bit too much for it to be as smooth as she had hoped.

"I couldn't sleep," Fenris said, and Dog barked encouragingly, as if he was adding to the elf's story. Hawke looked at him with a frown on her plump mouth. He turned as if to go, but the mabari gave a sharp bark, and he stayed planted where he was.

"What is with you?" Hawke asked her hound, turning her attention back to Fenris, "And what is with the flower?" She gestured to the rose in his hand.

"For you," Fenris said, offering the rose to Hawke. She cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms across her chest.

"If you think that a rose will sway me, you must be sorely mistaken," she said huffily.

"The thorns stabbed me," Fenris offered, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Did they draw blood?" Hawke opened one eye, long sooty lashes fluttering gently.

"Yes."

"Give it here," she said, snatching the rose from his offered hand. She lifted it to her nose and inhaled, its sweet and heady scent flooding her nostrils. "You plucked this from the Chantry courtyard, didn't you?" Her sly smile crept across her lips, then she was laughing. "A rose from any other place, would not smell as sweet!" She walked back into her mansion, ascending the stairs that led to her bedroom. "Are you coming?" she called, not looking backward.

Of course Fenris was. He rushed up the stairs to her side and slipped an arm around her waist and followed her to her room. She set the rose on her desk, in a small glass of water. Her journal was open and she looked like she had been writing in it all night, a quill lay discarded next to an empty bottle of ink, several pieces of crumpled up parchment strewn about the desk. Fenris wanted to know what it was that she was writing about, but his reading needed improvement and he knew he couldn't sneak a satisfactory glance in time. Hawke followed his gaze, and guessed his intention. "Varric wanted me to keep track of our various adventures, but I found that it was much too boring compared to his stories, so I've been using it to write down my feelings."

"Ah," said the elf, somewhat uncomfortable. "Anything good in there?" he tried to joke, not expecting her to say anything substantial.

"the usual, confusing boyfriend issues," she said flashing her most winning smile. "Now I can add that you defiled Chantry property to get me a rose."

"It was the hound's idea," Fenris said, obviously missing the joke.

Hawke laughed, causing his ears to turn pink. "You said you weren't sleeping well?" She hugged him close, her arms wrapped round his waist. He stiffened at first and then relaxed. "I keep thinking about Thalison," he admitted. Getting the thought off of his chest felt… better. Not that the fear wasn't still there, but it did help to admit it to Hawke. "And...I suppose I can't help but worry that he will end up taking me back to Minrathous with him, despite our intentions."

Hawke rested her chin on his shoulder. "You think that he would be able to get past me?" she said. "Depends on how mad you are at me that day, I guess," Fenris shrugged and she laughed.

"Even if I wanted to kill you, I'd rather do it myself than let some _slime ball_ get his grubby hands on you."

He took small comfort in that, knowing that she would gladly hand his own ass to him. If it was one thing he could count on, it was Hawke being Hawke. "You need to get some sleep," she purred in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe, guiding him to the bed. She pulled off her tunic and started unbuckling his armor, stripping him. He let her, suddenly too tired to lift his limbs. Just being near her drove him mad, but also calmed him immensely. He felt that he no longer had to be guarded around her, he could ease his hackles, uncurl his lip, stop baring his teeth, and maybe even wag his tail. The little wolf sat on the edge of the mattress, and took his leggings off, and pulled off his small clothes, crawling under the satin sheets and the heavy coverlet. Hawke climbed in on the other side, equally as naked, and pulled the elf into her, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in the nape of his neck, holding him protectively. Soon his eyelids grew heavy, and the rhythmic breathing of the woman next to him sent waves of drowsiness through him, and he drifted off to sleep, the scowl etched on his face fading to one of peaceful slumber.

A/N: Hah, Dog and Fenris are friends because Fenris is a little wolf. They are kindred spirits. Shut up, you know they are. Drop me a line, yes?


	9. Chapter 9

_Some NSFW stuff happens. _

Hawke and Anders were scouring Darktown, searching for this artifact that the letter had mentioned, but all they ended up doing was scratching their heads. Whatever it was, it wasn't down here. Anders suggested the sewers and Hawke wrinkled her nose in disapproval. "It could be down there," shrugged the blonde and the black haired woman rolled her eyes. "So could a dragon. Doesn't mean I am going."

"Touche," the healer laughed. When it was just the two of them, (or rather three, if he counted Justice, and he really did have to count Justice), he found it was easier to joke with Hawke. It reminded him of his early days as a Grey Wardem, traveling with the Warden-Commander. She was light hearted too, and never failed to appreciate a good joke. Anders knew he was more somber these days, burdened with the plight of the mages, but it was nice to smile every once in a while. He forgot how good it felt to be in company of good friends who could all laugh even though they faced down certain doom at any possible moment.

Hawke flashed her trademark cheeky smile. "Shall we try the Gallows then? It seems like a likely place as any…" she trailed off. Neither mage was willing to just saunter into the Templar stronghold, even with Hawke's status of Champion protecting them.

"There is a back way, into the Gallows," Anders said slowly. "I, uh, use it to help others escape the Circle and the Knight-Commander."

Raising an eyebrow, Hawke said nothing, but allowed the healer to continue. "You can't tell anyone about the entrance though, it will end up doing more harm than good if you do."

She nodded, and extended her hand. "I won't tell any one, Anders. Lead on." He all but beamed, knowing his friend would keep her word. Still, there was a feeling of trepidation, as he always got, a feeling of despair in the pit of his stomach. He hated the blighted Gallows and even when he was helping the mages escape, he had to prepare himself for it mentally each time. He was terrified that there would be an ambush waiting, that they would capture him and turn him Tranquil, like they had done to Karl, to so many others. He stopped short of a hole in the wall, not terribly far from his clinic. He looked around, making sure that no eyes were on them, and he motioned to Hawke to follow him. He sucked in his stomach and slide in the hole, turning sideways so that his lean frame could fit. Hawke frowned. She wasn't sure she could get through there, even though she wasn't much bigger than the mage, she did have breasts and those were not tamed easily. She rolled her shoulders back and cracked her neck, taking a deep breath and slid in after Anders.

It was a tight fit, but not impossibly so. She was thankful she was not claustrophobic. She couldn't imagine Varric doing this, that was for certain. He would grumble about how "not every dwarf liked to be underground" and loudly complain he could be having a mug of ale at the tavern, instead of traipsing about in the dirt like a common nug. Still, it was unsettling, having the walls pressing in on her, and she shuffled along side of Anders, sticking closer to him than she would normally have. She didn't fancy getting trapped here, and Maker knows what would happen then. She suspected the Knight-Commander would be pleased with her disappearance and not make any effort to find her, while Aveline would literally tear the city apart, brick by brick if she had to. She sneezed, as dirt and dust floated in front of her face, certain that there was snot hanging from her nose. The passage was too narrow for her to get her hand up to her face to check so she was left twitching her nose, annoyed.

Eventually the passage grew larger, and Hawke wiped her face, thankful that Anders hadn't seen her with a giant booger hanging from her nostril. He would have laughed, and told everyone that the Champion of Kirkwall walked around with boogers hanging from her nose, and that she only beat the Arishok because he was disgusted at her hygiene. She looked around, they were in a cavern now, probably under the lake that led to the Gallows.

Anders crept forward, lightly stepping around the myriad of bones, stones, and other debris that littered the cave floor. She followed his lead, stepping as quietly as she could. The healer had more of a sense of stealth than she did, as he was used to running from Templars and Maker knows what else, while she always blundered head on into whatever trouble she decided to find herself in that day. She admired his resolve for his freedom, because she would not like to hide out in caves when the Templars came looking.

Anders ran a hand through his hair, loosening the tie that held it back, shaking out any dust or spiders that had gotten caught. After a moment, he sighed and tied it all back again, albeit a little haphazardly. Hawke stifled a giggle, wondering how many times a day he did that in frustration or anxiety. Anders cocked an eyebrow and placed a finger to his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. He crept around, making sure that the coast was clear, and then started whispering to Hawke.

"You have to be quiet down here. There are lyrium smugglers and Maker knows what else," he breathed, his mouth near her ear. "We will have to deal with them, but we shouldn't kill anyone unless we have to. The Templars will notice if their men go missing and they don't come up with any lyrium." Hawke nodded, to show that she understood, and the pair crept quietly down the cavern path, avoiding any major missteps.

They could hear voices ahead of them, the cave walls carrying the sounds with a slight echo. Smugglers, they guessed, and padded forward, both gripping their staves tightly. Ahead, in the darkness, they saw a torch light, fire flickering in the hand of a smuggler. Dwarf, surface caste, probably a member of the Carta. He was talking to his fellow dwarves, telling them to get a move on with the cargo, they needed to hurry up lest the Knight-Commander came down here and caught them. Apparently she disapproved of the Templars extra rations of the dust, and with good reason. Templars hopped up on the blue stuff led to addiction and erratic behavior.

Hawke counted seven all together, and she signaled to Anders that they should strike first. He nodded in agreement and mouthed "no killing". She rolled her eyes and flapped her hand, agreeing even though she felt it would be better to dispatch them entirely, she would do as he asked. It was his secret hideaway, not hers, so she would play by his rules. For now.

Anders began wiggling his fingers, drawing a sigil for paralysis, and Hawke followed suit. Between the two of them, they should be able to capture them all. Both spells unleashed green glyphs on the ground, right in front of the dwarven entourage, and they stepped into the trap. Quickly, Anders cast another spell, sleep this time, to force them into slumber, so that Hawke and he could pass by unnoticed. When they woke, which would be hours later, they should not remember what happened. Hopefully.

The pair of mages sidled past the frozen smugglers and continued on their way. The cavern widened out, and there was no more evidence of anyone else about. Anders visibly relaxed, and he pointed up the path a bit to Hawke. "See, if you follow that there, you end up right underneath the Gallows courtyard. A small grate can be removed, and if you drop down, you can end up in this cavern." He shifted his weight. "It's been getting harder and harder to move mages out of the Circle. They keep eyes on them at all times now." He shuddered. "I think we will have to go the other way, though," he pointed in the other direction. "There are more paths that split off of this one, and it did look like there were some ruins down further on, but once I saw that it didn't lead to the Gallows, I quit following the path."

"Mm," Hawke hummed, lips pressed together tightly. Ruins. Tevinter ruins. This was their best bet to find out what this magister wanted in Kirkwall. She stepped ahead, taking the lead and Anders fell in step behind her. The two picked their way down the path, careful not to step on rats or tripping on bones. This area was littered with more than its share of skeletons, Hawke was sure that they were headed the right direction. The path took them downward, the air getting colder as they went, so much so that the mages both had to conjure little fire bobbles to keep them warm and generate light. The air was eerie and still, and it made Anders chuckle nervously. He cleared his throat and tried to get a grip on himself. _Andraste's flaming ass, did it have to be so unnerving down here?_

"I'm surprised you and Fenris are still a thing," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. Part of him was curious as to what the Champion saw in the surly elf, the other part was hoping she would get angry and chastise him, anything to take his mind off of the dark, still air clawing at his eyes and his throat. He did not like this cavern, it reminded him too much of the blighted Deep Roads. "Given that he nearly lopped your shoulder off."

"Are you still on about the whole shoulder thing, Anders?" Marion clucked disapprovingly. "You know very well that he is skittish around magic, and there was a demon-"

"-But you're not a demon," the healer interjected. "He shouldn't have attacked you."

"I'm well aware that he shouldn't have attacked me, thank you," she said coolly. "And of course I have you to thank that my arm even exists, and still works, mostly fine." She flexed her fingers. Occasionally she would get numbness and tingling in her finger tips, but it wasn't often, just when the weather was bad or she slept on her arm funny.

The blonde noticed her fidgeting and scowled. "I wouldn't have had to heal your arm if the stubborn oaf didn't try to kill you. Kill you, Hawke, in the Fade. You would have been made Tranquil." He shuddered. The thought of anyone he knew becoming Tranquil scared him. He never wanted to be made Tranquil, would rather die first, would rather see the whole world burn before he lost his connection to the Fade and to his magic. It terrified him to his very core, and knowing that Hawke could have ended up like that over something as stupid as that elf made him burn with anger. It only made it worse that Hawke seemed so _flippant_ about the whole thing.

"I know, Anders, and trust me, I was really upset about it too." Hawke looked back at him, and where he expected anger or annoyance on her face, he only saw sadness. Her normally chipper smile replaced by a grim slash, blue eyes lidded heavily and world weary.

"It's just… he wasn't wrong, you know?" she said quietly. "The demon, it was a tempting offer. It offered so much power and promise. It showed me _Bethany_, Anders. My little sister." Hawke broke off, a lump in her throat welling up. She coughed to clear it, and continued on. "I wasn't going to take the offer, just trying to goad the demon into slipping up. I had no idea you had sent him into the Fade."

"I'm sorry, Marian, if I could have come to you, you know that I would have-" Anders started to say. stopped himself, and started again. "I haven't been in the Fade since Justice, and it is...disturbing. He wants to return and I want to let him, but we both know he can't go, not until we see this cause through."

Hawke said nothing, merely nodding her agreement.

"And it was my fault sending him in, I just didn't think he would attack you. I thought maybe he might find you trapped and coax you out of the Fade, that you would be able to trust him."

"It's his lyrium!" Hawke blurted out, suddenly ashamed of herself. "I… can't give it up. It's so potent, and powerful, and the demon was right, I could use it to control him if I wanted to, I could use it to do so many wonderful, horrible things… and I can't let myself. But I am so tempted."

Anders didn't know what to say, he knew it was easy to get addicted to lyrium, and he had suspected she had overdosed when she was trapped in the Fade, but to hear her admit that she was addicted to it was another matter entirely.

"You can ease yourself off of it," he tried to say reassuringly, but Hawke shook her head. "No, you don't understand. It's not just the lyrium, Anders, it's the blood too."

Anders stopped, staring at the back of her head, a look of horror dawning on his face. "Hawke, you're not… using blood magic, are you?"

She wheeled around. "Maker's balls, Anders, _no_! It's the lyrium, it's infused in every part of him, in his skin, his muscles, his blood! And when his blood starts pumping, like during a fight, or- or sex-" she stuttered, before regaining her composure and continuing. "His whole body sings with it, and it's like he is a living vein of lyrium, that I can tap into at will, or sometimes, unwillingly. It crackles through my whole body, and it is just so much more potent than the stuff that they have us drink out of flasks."

Blondie scratched his chin, thoughtfully stroking his stubble. He supposed that did make sense, blood and lyrium were both powerful, and together could combine into a new, raw force. "Do you think that is what that magister wants? His untapped power?"

"That would be my guess." Hawke shrugged.

Neither of them knew what to say to her admission of addiction. There wasn't much to say or to do about it, except wean her off of it, if she even wanted to get off of it. It was some time before Hawke spoke again, quietly.

"Anders, I do love him," she sighed. "It would be all the easier if I weren't a mage, but I do have to consider that he has had a pretty shitty life, what with being a slave. Honestly, I think being a slave and being a Circle mage are one and the same, and I can't imagine how that would be."

Anders knew how it felt to be trapped in a Circle. After several escape attempts, he finally managed to be rid of the Circle, only to become a Grey Warden. Not that he blamed the Warden-Commander in her decision to conscript him, nor was he bitter. When he was under her care, the Wardens was a fine outfit. It was only after she had reassigned her charges that things became increasingly suffocating for the mage. He resented the Deep Roads and had to give up his cat, he knew it was only a matter of time before they started harassing him and keeping tabs on him about his magic use, and the threat of demons. They didn't take too kindly to Justice, who was bound to Warden Kristoff's corpse, and called him a demon. Anders had thought it the perfect solution, to aid his friend and to escape the insufferable Wardens.

It turned out that taking Justice inside of him hadn't been the smartest move that the mage had made, but it was not one that he would change. Now that he had touched a spirit of the Fade, he felt even more adamant that the Rite of Tranquility was an affront to all that was holy.

He couldn't help but feel a little envious of Hawke's upbringing, always an apostate, never a slave to the Circle, now she was a noblewoman in Kirkwall, savior of the city. And he was as he had always been, an outsider, wanting freedom but never finding it, even now as an apostate, he was bound by this cause, securing the freedom for all mages across Thedas. He huffed a long breath of air through his nose, shaking his head slightly, trying to regain focus on the task at hand.

"Did I ever tell you that I don't like caves?" he said, seriously. "They remind me of the Deep Roads."

"I didn't much enjoy the Deep Roads myself, can't imagine anyone would," Hawke said absently, pausing to study some carved symbol on the wall. They were getting closer to the ruin, now, she was seeing man made flag stones set into the cave floor, and there were signs of craftsmanship all around. She tilted her head to get a better glance at it. "Do you know what this symbol is? It's everywhere down here…" her voice trailed off as her fingers traced the deep gouges, feeling the chisel marks of the tool that made it, still jagged, even though the ruin was clearly over a thousand years old.

"Tevinter, probably" Anders said, pushing his face against the stone, his bobble of flame bouncing off the cavern wall, casting long, flickering shadows across Hawke's face, the walls, and the floor. "It looks like a dragon."

"That's not that unusual, though, right?" Hawke inquired, turning her head to the other side, as if the different angle would enlighten her. "They worshipped dragons, calling them the Old Gods or some such nonsense." She shrugged. "Well, it looks like we are on the right path, let's keep going."

"Hawke, did you notice this?" Anders paused, kneeling on the floor. There, amidst the flagstones, deep channels were carved, laboriously chipped away from the stone, deliberately laid among the flagstones, in a pattern that was inconspicuous, unless one looked out of the corner of one's eye. Anders ran his hand over it, feeling it, and when he pulled his fingers away, little discharges of static electricity followed his fingers. "Magic," he breathed. "_Andraste's knickers,_ Hawke. These are blood grooves!" He stood up suddenly, desperate to get away from the tiny channels, awkwardly scrabbling back to the cavern walls.

"I think this was some sort of ...sacrificial temple," Hawke said slowly, inspecting the grooves, following the paths, seeing how they merge, like tributaries, joining a river, becoming wider. all leading to a central point. The center of the chamber is where they all merged, and there was a large metal grate fitted into the stone. Hawke leaned over, urging her little fire light to float down in between the spiked and blood crusted bars. She couldn't see, so she laid flat on her belly and peered down. She was careful to keep her fingers and face away, but wanted to see what was down the long well. It seemed to go down for ages, and she couldn't see what was at the bottom. Something that looked like.. a shrine? A statue or an altar?

"Anders, I see something down there," she said, her cheek smashed against the cold hard stone, peering over the edge.

Anders stayed firmly pressed against the wall. "Hawke I really don't think you need to be pressing your face against a bloody spiked grate, we really need to get out of here."

Hawke waved him over. "Seriously, this pit goes so far down! What do you think it is that is down there? The artifact? Or is this part of the ritual?" She pushed herself up off the floor and tentatively looked around, running her hands all over the walls, looking for some sort of secret passage.

"There must be something here," she said, feeling around. "There has to be a way down there. Ah!" Her hand ran over another one of the draconian runes, only this one was a relief, instead of a carving. Its sharp mouth, complete with teeth, bared and angry. She ran her finger tip over them and cried out in pain as a tooth snagged her flesh, drawing forth a few drops of blood. She brought her finger to her mouth, sucking on it, tongue running over the ragged little wound.

The dragon shuddered, and its eyes lit up with a crimson glow, the color of spilled blood, slick and glistening in candlelight, and seemed to grow and grow. Hawke scrambled back, trying to stay clear of the unknown magic at work. It arched out of the rune and spilled onto the floor, like molten metal pouring from a smelter, yet there was no splashing, no hissing of metal contacting stone. Silent, glowing, pulsing, it grew until it formed a large sigil on the floor of the chamber. The eyes went dark, and the dragon receded into the stone. "What in the Maker's name was _that?_" Anders breathed, rushing over to Hawke's side. He pulled her finger from her mouth, inspecting the wound. "It seems like it needed blood to activate the magical guard." He clasped his hand around hers, rather intimately Hawke thought, flinching only slightly at his rough touch, the healing magic warming his hand and her fingers. Soon, the skin knit together and all that was left was the faintest of scars, indistinguishable from her numerous other callouses and scars on her fingers.

Anders let go of her hand, a bit sheepishly, a blush rising in his cheeks. He couldn't believe he had grabbed her hand like that, and she had flinched, Maker, but she flinched. He was mentally berating himself for the stupid move, and Hawke busied herself inspecting the new rune, still glowing red and pulsing. It took her a few moments to realize that it was pulsing in time with her own pulse, matching heartbeat to heartbeat, thrumming in time as her own life's blood pumped through her veins.

"Well, that isn't creepy," she murmured, squinting at it. She got down on her knees, and swept her hand over the markings, eyebrows pulled together and mouth a frown. It was a rune, of binding? Perhaps. The markings were all Tevinter, and not the common arcane symbols. Some of them looked a little familiar, there was that dragon one again, for instance, but most were too difficult to decipher without any sort of reference. She wanted to poke it, but usually that ended up being a bad thing, so she walked away from it scratching her head.

"Let's go, I think we found what we were looking for, we just need to figure out what it is." Hawke shrugged and gave her sarcastic half smile. "Shall we pop up into the Gallows? Give the Knight-Commander a good scare?"

Anders glared at Hawke disapprovingly. "I don't think tempting the Knight-Commander would be the wisest course of action, Hawke." _She was liable to cleave their heads from their shoulders before Hawke could even get out so much as a hello_, he thought grimly. _Maker, how Hawke manage to avoid the Gallows was anyone's guess._ He ran a hand through his hair, scratching his head and sighing. "Let's just go, as you said. Lead the way."

Later, at the Hawke estate, Marian was sitting at the dining room table, feet propped up and twiddling her thumbs. Around her sat Varric, Anders, and Fenris as well as their collection of intelligence and several books on Tevinter runes, customs, and rituals- what little there was that had made the way into southern Thedas, a rather sad and paltry collection. Anders sat with his shoulders hunched forward, pouring over the dusty tomes, Varric insisting that Hawke recount again how she had touched an unknown magical object, given it her blood, and finding some sort of Tevinter altar, and then just left it all behind.

"Even I can't make this shit up, Hawke," the dwarf pinched the bridge of his broken nose. "This is some tale. No one is going to believe it."

Fenris sat idly scratching Dog just behind the ears, brooding as was his standard. Hawke cocked an eyebrow and looked at him, noting just how grim his mouth looked, how angry his hooded eyes were, the silvery white hair doing nothing to obscure his hardened features. "As if this could get any worse," Hawke huffed. "The Vints, blood magic, blood sacrifices, a stupid stone altar and some equally stupid rune, and all of it just sitting right under the Knight-Commander's nose in the Gallows."

She rubbed her eyes. She had been up for hours, her eyes were heavy, demanding sleep, and her limbs ached. She just wanted to collapse in her bed, pressing her face into her soft pillow, letting her body fall into the mattress, it forming around her curves… but sleep would have to wait.

Anders was mumbling to himself, running through the various runes and illustrations, occasionally scratching out a translation on a spare piece of parchment, then going back to sucking the end of the quill between his teeth, chewing on the end. He worked in silence for a while, Varric pulling out a deck of cards and shuffling them, Hawke twiddling her thumbs trying not to fall asleep, and Fenris constantly obeying the commands of Dog, who would not let him stop petting him.

The hours drug on, and Hawke was bored out of her mind. She knew that she had to let the healer work though, she had no patience to sift through all that nonsense on her own. "Anders, any update?" She said, through a half-stifled yawn. Bodahn had thoughtfully provided them with some food, and she was picking her way through some cheese and a sweet roll.

"Not much," the blonde healer said, stretching and rolling his shoulders back. "I know it has something to do with the Old Gods, it looks like it was a sacrificial pit to Dumat, as to what the artifact could be… that I have no clue." He pushed the books away from him and cracked his knuckles, shaking out his hands after.

Sandal, Bodahn's boy, and a master enchanter if a little simple, had wandered into the dining room. Hawke liked the boy, he was sweet and kept to himself mostly (when he wasn't swinging off the chandelier) and she offered him some food. Sandal didn't answer, but that wasn't unusual, and he came to stand behind Anders. He pointed with one short, stubby finger at a rune that the mage had traced on the parchment. "Not enchantment!" he said, enthusiastically.

"Er, yes well that is true," Anders said, biting his lip, uncomfortable with how close the boy was to him, shifting in his seat, looking pleadingly at Hawke.

"Magic door!" the dwarf boy cried, clapping his hands together, Hawke looked at the drawing again, cocking her head to the side. "Andraste's flaming ass, he's right!" She lunged across the table and grabbed the parchment, turning it so that the others could see. "Sandal! you're brilliant! I could kiss you!"

"Please don't!" all three of her companions chimed in simultaneously, although for different reasons.

Hawke rolled her eyes, and pointed at the paper. "See there? Look, this looks just like a summoning sigil, and this is the part with the dragon rune. It's not an imprisonment ward… it's a doorway!"

Her eyes lit up with excitement. "that means, wherever this portal links to, is where the artifact is!"

Varric was skeptical. "Are you sure it's not just some portal to let that Dumat fellow in? I mean a door is a pretty self explanatory thing. You either come in or you go out."

Anders chewed on his thumbnail. "It makes sense, to a point. I mean, who's to say what the portal leads to?"

Fenris growled, "Something terrible no doubt, and we will be right in the thick of it, as per usual." Dog whined, resting his giant head on the elf's leg. "You would come with us and get yourself hurt," Fenris said in tone that had a finality to it. Dog barked in argument but Fenris shook his head. "No, you must stay here."

Varric looked at Hawke and jerked his head toward the broody elf. "Is he talking to your hound, and the dog is answering him?" Hawke shrugged. "They are friends. Spirit animals or something."

"Right," said the dwarf, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. "Who would have thought the elf could even make friends?"

"I can hear you," Fenris said flatly.

"Good, your pointy ears are at least functional," the dwarf quipped back.

"This isn't helping us," Anders interjected, before things turned ugly. They were all very tired and annoyed with the lack of progress. "We still don't know what it goes to or what the artifact is, and frankly I so tired, I can't even see straight any more."

Hawke got up and stretched. "Right. you lot, bed time. I have plenty of room for you to stay over, if you like."

Varric shrugged his leather duster up on his shoulders and waved away Hawke's offer. "No way, Hawke, can't stand this plush shit, I am going back to the Hanged Man, where it's comfortable." The dwarf waved goodnight to everyone and sauntered out of Hawke's house.

"Anders," Hawke said crossing her arms. "you will stay here tonight, in the guest room. And that is not an option."

Both Fenris and Anders opened their mouths to protest, but Hawke silenced them with a quelling look. "It's too dangerous with all the templars running around lately, and I have the space. It's not like they will come busting down my door."

Fenris crossed his arms. "They could," he said simply.

Anders shook his hands, obviously uncomfortable. "I don't want to be any bother, I can just go, it's not a prob-"

"Anders. Room. Now." Hawke said, leaving no room for argument. "Fenris, you too." She grabbed both of them by the arm and led them out of the dining room, depositing Anders off in the guest room.

She turned to Dog. "Make sure he stays the night, and go cuddle with him or something. Maker knows that man needs something furry to sleep next to, aside from the rats in the clinic." Dog woofed and trotted into the bedroom after the healer, and kicked the door closed with his hind leg.

The dark haired mage didn't let go of Fenris at this point, aware that the elf would stalk out of her home on sheer principle of sharing a sleeping space with the healer. "Hawke, I can manage to walk myself to the door," he protested, but it fell on deaf ears.

Once they were alone in her room, she quickly undressed, pulling her tunic off and shimming out of her breeches in what could only be described as lightning speed. She turned toward Fenris, crossing her arms across her magnificent breasts, tapping her foot in mock impatience. "Well?" she said, pursing her lips.

Fenris sighed, and hung his head. He couldn't argue with her, not when she was naked and tapping her foot in such a manner, mocking him. He stripped down, slowly, and soon, he too was naked. Hawke pointed to her bed, a silent order for him to slip in under the covers. The elf obeyed, simply because the bed looked so inviting and relaxing, and he was too tired to protest.

He pulled down the sheets and slipped in, dragging them up to his chest. Hawke sidled in next to him, wrapping her arms round his waist and pulling him close. She nuzzled the nape of his neck, her hot breath causing his skin to pucker in goosebumps. It felt so nice, having her next to him. He wondered if she always had to be the protective one though, spooning him. He thought it was wretchedly unfair, that he didn't get to feel her lush arse against his groin, and she got to feel his. He twisted in the sheets, untangling himself from her and turned over, pulling her into him instead. She smiled sleepily and allowed him to wrap his arms round her, her bum in his groin. She could feel his manhood twitch in response, but she was too tired to do anything about it.

Apparently, so was the elf, because he was asleep in moments, snoring lightly into her shoulder.

Hawke woke to Dog barking at her door, scratching and whining. "Whossit, boy?" she said, thickly, not even certain of what she was saying. She untangled herself from Fenris, who remarkably had taken up most of the giant bed in the middle of the night, and slipped on a light dressing gown. She opened the door and the mabari rushed in, tugging at her hem.

"Okay, okay," she said, gesturing that she would follow him, and she shuffled out to the hallway down to the guest room where Anders had crashed last night. Dog pounced on the door, pushing it open, and Hawke entered. The room was empty, save for a note, which the hound had fetched and placed in her hand. It was slightly damp from his slobber, but still mostly legible.

_Hawke,_

_Couldn't risk you harboring an apostate. Took your cellar back to my clinic. Found out some new information. Stop by when you have the chance, and bring Fenris. _

_Your dog needs a bath, and whatever you feed him gave him the farts and stunk up the whole room._

_Anders_

She raised an eyebrow and looked at the hound, who was sat at her feet, tail stump wagging enthusiastically. "He's right, you know. You do need a bath and your farts are absolutely atrocious."

Dog whined, in a mocking hurt tone, and Hawke laughed, patting the beast on the head.

"Anders couldn't live with the guilt of spending the night, eh?" She rubbed her eyes and made her way back to her room. She had been too tired to entertain Fenris's manhood twitching last night, but she figured they had a few hours yet before she had to be at the clinic. Plenty enough time to wake him up with a sight he wouldn't soon forget.

Several long, satisfying hours later, Hawke and Fenris made their way to the clinic. Fenris kept looking at the mage out of the corner of his eye. What a treat he had been woken with, he recalled her perfectly poised on him, her weight sending all sorts of glorious pressure on his hips, his manhood throbbing almost painfully with need before he had even fully awoken. Her devilish smile on her full, kissable lips, lock of dark hair swept across her eyes. A low moan escaped his throat as he recalled the gentle rocking of her hips, rolling forward and taking his length easily, her tight, wet heat swallowing him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. _Maker_ if he didn't stop thinking about how she looked naked on top of him, they would never make it to the clinic. Fenris hadn't even been sure that there was a Maker or that He cared about His children, but looking at Hawke splayed naked on the silky sheets under him had convinced him that maybe the Maker did exist. Such perfection couldn't happen by accident, surely.

Hawke chuckled at the little groan he had given and gave him a wink and squeezed his hand. She had loved teasing him for ages, until he had fully woken up and his erection demanded his full attention, bursting with need. After the elf had figured out what was going on, he became aggressive, flipping her over onto her back, parting her legs, and plunging inside of her with a desperate need. She liked that side of him, the hungry side, the selfish side. He didn't indulge in his wants enough, she thought, and she was all too happy to help him loosen up a little.

There was a bit of bustle going on in the mage's clinic, and Anders was running around doing his best to help his patients. Hawke and Fenris waited outside, the blue eyed woman occasionally peeking inside to see if he was free, the green eyed elf drawing circles in the dirt floor with his toes.

Anders was looking more harried than ever, thought Hawke, seeing the mage smooth his bedraggled hair unsuccessfully. His robes looked dirty and worn, threadbare in places, and it looked like he hadn't slept in a proper bed since the dawn of time. She wondered why he hadn't stayed, sleeping in a comfortable bed, but she decided that Anders didn't know how to relax any more, and being comfortable was a luxury the mage thought he no longer could afford.

Hawke had been right in her assumption that Anders had not slept in a comfortable bed for many years. If he wasn't swamped at the clinic, and there was a free cot at the end of the night, he would collapse onto that, exhausted from the day's toils. If there was no cot available, he would sleep sitting on the floor, back propped against the grimy shack wall, head drooping on his shoulder. He hadn't bathed as often as he had liked either, instead just scrubbing his face in a basin of water, and Maker knows how long it had been since he had a fresh set of robes. He rarely ate more than a bite or two of his meager dinner, and it was becoming clear that Justice was sustaining Anders more than Anders was at this point. Anders had considered it part of his self sacrifice to help others as much as he could, with little thought or care for his own well being. He knew that he couldn't go on like this much longer, but soon it wouldn't matter. He had made up his mind, he just had to see this final thing through with Hawke, then he could commit fully to his plan.

He finally had a moment to breathe, all the refugees tended to, and the poor sent on their way with what little help he could provide for them. He collapsed in the lone chair in the makeshift clinic and closed his eyes. He hadn't heard Hawke and Fenris approach, and when he looked up, he was so startled he nearly fell out of his chair.

"Hawke!" the healer yelped. "Maker's breath, give a guy a warning next time!" His small smile crept to his lips after the initial shock wore off . "Glad that you could make it." He eyed the pair almost enviously, as they both looked well rested, which was a feeling he could no longer imagine, let alone remember.

"You said you had information," Fenris said curtly.

"Right, so after I left your place last night," Anders started, licking his lips excitedly. "I remembered I had heard the name Thalsian somewhere before, but I couldn't recall where. I was sitting here just about to drift off to sleep and it came to me! Thalsian was one of the first Archons of the Imperium!" He finished, expecting the others to get it just as he had, but their blank faces stared back at him.

"Thalsian cannot be one of the first Archons," Fenris said, "As the Imperium is over a thousand years old."

"I don't even know what an Archon is," Hawke shrugged.

"The ruler of the Magisterium," Fenris supplied, to which Hawke replied. "Ah."

"No, no you are missing the point entirely," Anders sighed, exasperated. "Thalsian was the first one to discover _blood magic_. He claimed he learned it from the Old God, Dumat!"

"Ah," said Hawke and Fenris together.

"You still don't understand, do you? Thalsian was a high priest to Dumat, one of the original false gods that turned the Maker's scorn on mankind. He learned blood magic. The false gods aren't gods at all, they are _demons_." He waved his hand excitedly, continuing on. "You see, the Blight is started by the darkspawn searching out one of these Old Gods who were turned into Dragons, and banished into the mortal realm. They were originally the Maker's first children, but grew envious of the living! They whispered in the minds of dreamers and-"

"That's how the darkspawn came to be." Hawke interrupted. "I get it now, so why is this guy so important, just because he was named after some decrepit old Archon from ages past?"

"No, you don't understand, he isn't named after him, Hawke… he is him! The same guy!" Anders said seriously. "I am almost certain of it. He learned blood magic from a demon, that became a dragon. This dragon, Dumat, was the first Arch-Demon of the First Blight. Thalsian was a high priest of Dumat… it all fits!"

"So what, the ritual is this old geezer trying to resurrect the first Arch-Demon?" Hawke asked quizzically. "Okay, but that doesn't tell us about the artifact still."

Anders sighed, grabbing Hawke by the shoulders. "The artifact is a vessel. A mortal one. One who donates blood willingly to the shrine of Dumat. Hawke… you are the artifact." His amber eyes were sad, gazing into his friend's blue ones. "You touched the dragon relief, got cut, gave your blood willingly as far as the ritual was concerned. The sigil on the ground, it was a portal, like Sandal said. A portal to the Fade, where the demon Dumat resides. Hawke, you're going to become Dumat's reincarnation, if we don't put a stop to this. And you're going to become the next Arch-Demon, and the start of the Sixth Blight."

Hawke swallowed, searching for the right words to say. "At least the Arch-Demon is a dragon. I have always wanted to be a dragon."

A/N Nine chapters in and finally the plot gets around to showing up *cough* Lord help me I did so much research for this. also I noticed I spelled Thalsian's name wrong for like two entire chapters, so I had to go back and change it all. Maker have mercy on me.


End file.
